Slow Burn: Part One
by The Girl with the Mousy Hair
Summary: Part one of the Slow Burn Trilogy. Sam and Gene begin to sense an atmosphere that wasn't there before. My first FanFic. Gene/Sam slash. Rated for language.
1. Chapter 1: Absolute Beginners

Chapter One - Absolute Beginners

Gene had the best seat in the pub. If pressed, he'd have said it was because it was near enough the bar to give Nelson the nod when he needed a pint, far enough from the bogs so that he didn't get a waft of that stench every time someone staggered out, and looking on to the door, so he could keep an eye on who was coming and going. An old copper's habit, he'd say. He wouldn't mention that he was actively watching the door, and looking for someone in particular. It was just professional concern anyway – every Friday night that Sam didn't come down the Railway Arms meant a sullen Monday morning with a man who had spent the weekend thinking too much and not getting enough good, healthy sleep. No more than that.

Every time the door opened he had to force himself not to snap his head up. His seat was angled just enough so that he would see them, whoever they were, before they saw him. In case any toerags came in who he needed to get a jump on. Never mind that this was a coppers' pub and the least likely place to find any of Manchester's thieves and crooks. You could never be too careful. He had a paper in front of him but he was damned if he'd read more than two words at a time. Later he'd join the group – Ray, Chris and Phyllis seemed to be having a very interesting discussion about bedroom athletics, though the lads didn't seem to be enjoying it as much as Phyllis was – and Cartwright was in with a couple of the nameless plonks. They'd all come together as the night went on and the beer flowed, but for now they were in their own cliques, and that suited the Guv just fine.  
The door opened again, and again Gene had to restrain himself from the reaction that would come naturally, and feign a casual glance over.

Damn the man, it wasn't him.

Not that Gene cared.

Sam approached the pub with the usual feelings of anxiety. He couldn't seem to shake the fear that one night he'd walk in and nobody would be there, leaving him on his own and in more need of a drink than ever. He supposed it was only natural but it didn't stop him feeling like he was back at school and out of the in crowd. He took a breath, shook his head at his own trepidation, and stepped towards the door.

He had his head lowered as he walked in, and forced himself to raise it. The first table he saw was Chris, Ray and Phyllis, and he breathed a tiny sigh of relief. Relieved to see Ray, nobody would believe it if he told them. Not that he would. Phyllis seemed to be making a gesture with her hands; Chris was looking a bit flushed and Ray distinctly uncomfortable. Chris glanced up and gave Sam a nod.

'Alright, Boss?'

Phyllis put her hands down and reached for her sherry, tipping Sam a wink as she did.

Ray didn't turn round. That was OK.

Sam's eyes landed on the next table over. Annie sat with two of the WPCs; he thought their names might be Beth and Susie. Remembering names was an important part of the DI job; he wanted everyone to think that he appreciated them as individuals, despite this being a ludicrously modern idea for 1973. Annie had her back to him, but he noticed Beth clock him and say something to the other two. Susie gave him a smile that he barely registered, and he thought he saw Annie's shoulder twitch. A beat or two passed, then she turned her head and sought him out. She gave him a smile, a sweet, Annie smile, and Sam couldn't help but smile back. He thought, as always, that he saw a tiny speck of hope in her pretty eyes, drowning in the blue. He felt, as always, guilty to have noticed it. Still, it was hard not to smile back at Annie, and he broke into that trademark Tyler grin, stepping further into the bar.

'Nice of you to join us, Dorothy.'

Without thinking, Sam turned to find the Guv (there was no need to wonder who would be using that particular greeting), still grinning warmly. He found him, sitting opposite the door with a paper and a dangerously close to empty Scotch on the table in front of him, face a study in indifference. Sam walked towards him. He thought, from the corner of his eye, that he saw Annie's shoulders slump just a fraction as she turned back to the table. He tried not to notice.

'Thought you weren't coming,' said Gene, still practising that blank expression that, frankly, he needed absolutely no further practise on. Sam ambled across the short space to the table, shrugging.

'Thought there might be something on telly for me.'

'I didn't know they put Jackanory on at this time of night.'

Sam would usually have rolled his eyes at this, or given his DCI a sarcastic smile, but with that broad grin still on his face he had to laugh it off. Gene let the corners of his mouth lift just a little, and pushed out a chair with his foot.

'Take a seat.' The chair skidded out from the table, remaining upright and stopping at just the right angle for Sam to slide into it. He looked down at it, impressed despite himself, and shrugged off his leather jacket, sliding it down his arms.

'I'll just…' he started, reaching for his wallet.

'No need, Sammy-boy,' said Gene, lifting a bottle of Scotch from beside him on the floor. Sam raised his eyebrows.

'Oh yeah? Does Nelson know you've got that in here?'

'He bloody should, he sold it to me half an hour ago. For a very reasonable price, I might add…' Gene lifted a previously unnoticed tumbler out from behind his own, placed it in the middle of the table and proceeded to open the bottle. Sam gave another laugh – he was a barrel of them tonight – and hung his coat over the back of the chair, then folded his neat limbs under the table. He had a warm feeling in his stomach where the anxiety had so recently been. The Guv even had a glass ready for him! He enjoyed the feeling of inclusion and the anticipation of Nelson's – he had a quick squint at the bottle – fourth finest Scotch.

Gene slid a now-full glass across the table to him. He lifted it, and tipped it in the Guv's direction with a head tilt of thanks. Gene blinked his 'you're welcome' and lifted his own glass, mimicking Sam's gesture. They both drank, Sam suppressing the wince that always accompanied the first sip, the Guv with every sign of pleasure. They both sat back.

Gene felt himself relax, now. He was aware that it'd felt really good to bring out that bottle and glass and pour Tyler a drink. The man needed a drink, if anyone did; he was being a good DCI by providing one. Just trying to keep the team functioning. Tyler was a man apt to hop on the Magic Roundabout at any moment, it was only natural that Gene wanted to keep him happy. Besides, just at the moment, he needed a bit of company himself, and Chris or Ray wasn't always his first choice. In fact, they hadn't been his first choice almost since the day this odd little man had turned up in the office, shouting about desks. It was one of those whatdyoucallem things. Quid pro quo sort of idea. Tyler needed someone to keep his feet on the ground, and Hunt needed someone to take his mind off his home life. Definitely only natural that he should be looking out for Tyler. Anyway, it didn't do to overthink, he was always trying to tell Sam that.

The night progressed like any other Friday. Seats shifted, groups formed and reformed and nobody ever had an empty glass. Sam and Gene got to find out exactly what Phyllis had been saying to the other lads, and laughed themselves silly over it while the other two continued to maintain strained expressions. Annie joined in the laughter and made an oblique reference to that morning when the Guv had found Sam handcuffed to the bed, bollock naked. It was oblique but vaguely complimentary, and while the Guv laughed harder than strictly necessary at the memory, Sam didn't mind joining in, especially when he noticed Ray scowling. A bit later Sam found himself surrounded by the four women, talking about feminism of all things and ignoring the snide glances from the other men. As the women nodded sagely, he raised his head to take another sip from his Scotch (which had been kept generously topped up) and noticed Gene looking over at them, that inscrutable look back in place. Their eyes met, but both looked away quickly. Sam felt another flicker in his stomach. He brushed it off and went back to the conversation. Sometimes it was good to be here in 1973, he seemed like such a paragon of virtue compared to the other men. It wasn't always bad to be the centre of such attention and, he would admit to noticing it, affection. As he put his drink back down he caught Annie's eye, this time, and smiled at her. That flicker of hope looked a bit bigger this time. The guilt struck again and he looked away. _Can a man not have a drink without making accidental eye contact all the time?_

Later still, and Sam was back with the Guv at that first little table, both leaning inwards on their elbows to hear each other over the music and general rabble. The first bottle of Scotch seemed to have been replaced seamlessly by a second, and both men were feeling happily warm and fuzzy. When Gene found himself thinking the phrase 'warm and fuzzy' he laughed to himself, allowing a small smile to cross his face as he looked into his drink.

'What's funny?' asked Sam, smiling too.

'Nothing Sammy-boy, just enjoying being out in the pub' Gene said, expansively. Sam looked at him.

'Guv, you come in here every day.'

They looked at each other for a moment then, together, started to laugh. Gene had missed having a DI he could laugh with without resorting to the kind of jokes Ray and Chris favoured. Not that there was anything wrong with them, mind, but moments like this one, now, with Sam, made the cheap laughs pale in comparison. They laughed into each other's faces, each feeding off the other. Pale in comparison, yes indeed.

When they had run out of mirth, Gene reached for the bottle. He topped up his own glass, but when he came to Tyler's the man covered it over with his hand. Gene frowned over at him.

'What?' he asked.

Sam sniggered again but kept his glass covered.

'I'm pissed, Guv. I think I'll get some water…' he added vaguely, looking around towards the bar where the dust and fag-dowt ridden jugs of water sat '…maybe from behind the bar…'

'Don't be a poof Gladys,' said Gene, reaching over and brushing Sam's fingers away. The touch of their skin seemed to startle Sam, as he jerked his hand away. Gene felt a bit startled himself. He hadn't thought anything of leaning over and saving Tyler from his own foolish sense of sobriety, but it suddenly seemed like a bit of an intimate gesture. They'd been physically close before, of course, with fists flying and knuckles bruising, but now this cramped table seemed too close for comfort. He noticed that his knees were touching Sam's and moved them as he poured more amber liquid into Sam's tumbler. He showed nothing in his face, but found himself feeling a warmth that he tried to pass off as the booze. It wasn't, though; it was the same feeling he'd had the first time he'd taken a particular pretty girl's hand to help her down the stairs. His first girlfriend, she'd been, and he'd been head over heels about her. He hadn't thought about that in years, hadn't had any cause to be reminded of it. Funny he should think of it now.

He looked up to see Sam watching him. He knew he'd given nothing away in his face, but he still wondered. When you worked closely with someone you got to be a bit whatsit, psychic or whatever. Maybe Sam had picked up something of his thoughts after all. Not that he'd volunteer anything, even if he had been rumbled being a soppy git. He raised his eyebrows at Sam.

'It's for your own good,' he said, meaning the whiskey. Sam looked momentarily nonplussed, then his expression cleared and he lifted his glass an inch or so, nodding. Gene raised his own glass to his lips. How many times had he drained a glass of Scotch in this pub? Yet he'd never thought of that girl until tonight. Funny. Chris came stumbling over, then, and broke up Gene's train of thought with his drunken chat. He was seeing this new bird, and he seemed to want to ask Tyler about it. _Sam Tyler, international fanny magnet_, Gene thought, a bit resentful. His own advice had been good enough for Chris before. He listened in to their conversation, occasionally adding his own insights which were met with a less than warm reception. Still, he thought he could see a laugh behind Tyler's eyes, despite his feminist sensibilities. Chris seemed to be glad of any advice he could get. Poor bugger.

Sam had his head on his arms, flat on the table. He didn't realise he was dozing until he was woken up, with an uncharacteristically quiet summons of 'Oi! Dorothy!' He lifted his head a little way and blinked owlishly. The guv sat opposite him, feet up on a vacated barstool, all long lines and pursed lips. He snorted laughter now, smoke jetting from his nose.

'Back in the room, areya?'

'Gotta get home,' mumbled Sam, struggling upright in his chair.

'I quite agree. Let's have a nightcap.'

Gene poured an economical measure into each glass and handed one to Sam. Knowing that this was the path of least resistance, and not really wanting to go home anyway, Sam reached out to take it. His hand, a bit drowsy from sleeping, went a little further than he meant and, for the second time, he found his fingers touching the Guv's, this time with his on top. He felt that same start, the same warmth in his gut, but this time he didn't jerk away. There was booze involved, after all, and dropping a glass of Scotch was liable to earn him a world of pain. He repeated this to himself, trying to ignore his hammering heart. He realised, too, that he was far beyond dropping that glass now, yet Gene still hadn't let go. He looked up, this time meaning to catch some meaning in his DCI's slate blue eyes, some explanation. Their eyes met, smoke from the cigarette creating a thin veil between them. Blue eyes into brown, they looked levelly at each other for a second before Gene slid his fingers gently out from under Sam's.

'Drink up, then,' said the Guv, never looking away.

'It's home time.'


	2. Chapter 2: Outside

Chapter Two - Outside

_He looked up, this time meaning to catch some meaning in his DCI's slate blue eyes, some explanation. Their eyes met, smoke from the cigarette creating a thin veil between them. Blue eyes into brown, they looked levelly at each other for a second before Gene slid his fingers gently out from under Sam's.  
_

_'Drink up, then,' said the Guv, never looking away.  
_

_'It's home time.'_

Sam nodded at him, still feeling a bit breathless, and functioning on auto-pilot took a sip from his glass. Gene nodded back, once, then drained his drink in a practised swallow and swung his legs off the stool.

'I'm off to the pisser,' he said, banging his tumbler back on the table. As he walked off, Sam was relieved to see a hint of stagger in the usual, straight-backed gait. They'd both had too much to drink, then, that was alright. Sam took another sip of his whiskey and sat up straighter, feeling more awake and less drunk than he'd been minutes before. He put his glass down to drag his hands across his face and through his short hair, leaving it ruffled. He noticed a jug of fresh water on the table. He smiled.

_Nelson_, he thought. What a barman. What a mate. There was even a lonely ice cube, melting on the surface.

_What, no lime wedge? _He snorted quiet laughter as he reached for the jug. He hooked the Guv's empty with the other hand and poured himself a drink, knocked it back and poured another. He definitely felt a lot more sober now; still pleasantly sparkled, but not borderline falling-down-passing-out drunk as he'd been earlier on. The sleep must have done him good. He must have been out for a while, too; the pub was empty apart from their table. He didn't remember anyone leaving, he hoped that was because he'd been out cold and not because he'd been too pissed.

The intensity of the moment between him and the Guv had faded. He'd always been one to let the drink make conversations and even relationships seem more important, more charged than they really were. He probably wouldn't remember it at all tomorrow, it really was a non-event. When he'd been single, his mates had wound him up about being such a flirt, but it was more down to this tendency to find interacting with people so fascinating, so meaningful than any desire to sleep around. That wasn't a bad by-product, as it went, but he didn't really do it on purpose. His more amorously challenged friends were always disgusted when he told them that. He drank the rest of his second water glass and dished out a third.

The Guv relieved himself with the appreciation that only drunk people can truly feel for a good arc. He mulled over that odd moment with Tyler, not sure what, if anything, had happened and how he felt about it, whatever it may or may not be. He was pretty sure it was just Tyler waking up and taking a bit of time to get back up to speed. It had looked like he might drop that glass, and even if it wasn't the best stuff Gene didn't want to see it soaking into the carpet, so he'd held on to it a bit longer to make sure that didn't happen. There was something else there, something about how he felt when his DI's expressive eyes met his own. Something about the touch of their hands. No, forget that, there was nothing but a couple of drunk guys down the pub.

He zipped up and washed his hands. He had many faults, but a lack of cleanliness wasn't among them. Time to go home, he thought, absent-mindedly drying his hands on his suit trousers – he should probably leave the Cortina round the back where it was, but that never usually stopped him from taking it. The streets would be quiet anyway. Sam might be too tired to object, that would spare him the usual telling off that he had to pretend not to hear. He'd decide when he got out into the air; he did have the best part of a bottle down him, that was a bit much even by his own standards. He made his way back into the pub.

Gene arrived back at the table, having weaved around chairs and tables that didn't necessarily need weaving around. He lifted his camelhair coat from the back of the chair and noticed Sam drinking water as he pulled it on.

'You can't help it, can you Gladys? Even down the pub you're a fairy.' He smiled though, despite himself. There was something about Sam, sitting upright and tucked in and sipping his water, that was impossible to look at with a straight face. Sam raised his eyes as he took another drink, the creasing at their corners showing that he had taken the jibe with good humour. 'You ready to go then?'

Sam nodded, still draining the glass, then dropped it back on the table and came to his feet. He lifted his coat from the chair and tugged it on, with a couple of false starts. Gene was still smiling at him, unregarded; really he was a character you couldn't help but be fond of, Tyler was. All wide eyes and tousled hair, and a look of fierce concentration as he tried to get his arm and his sleeve to match. The jacket was a tight fit, of course. Tyler's whole wardrobe was a tight fit. Gene wondered if he had to cut himself out of his jeans some nights. He paused for a moment then decided that was a thought that a red blooded man should never have about another man (even if he was less red blooded than you), and filed it away at the back of his mind. Sam had both sleeves negotiated by now, gave his pockets a pat to check for all the essentials and looked back up, seemingly pleased with himself. He saw the Guv smiling at him and returned it with a slightly dopey grin and outspread arms.

'I'm ready!' He dropped his hands to his sides again, still grinning in that unique way of his. Gene returned his own features to a non-committal pout and turned for the door. Standing here grinning at each other like a couple of brain donors, thank God nobody else was here to see it. Nelson had given Mr Hunt a set of keys for the pub years ago, after one too many lock ins that Nelson didn't mind hosting but didn't really want to be part of. The coppers' chat could be both deadly dull and depressingly grim by turns, and after you'd been up till 4am listening to it once or twice you were in no hurry to repeat the experience. So a set of keys seemed to be the perfect solution; nobody would hit a coppers' bar, anyway, but it didn't do to invite trouble. Gene didn't take the piss, left the pub in a decent state and made sure to lock up behind him. He glanced around now, taking in all the upturned chairs that he and Nelson had seen to, the optics soaking for the night, the glassware all stacked away. Only the table he and Sam had been at was left, their two glasses and water jug the only remnants of a busy Friday night. It'd do.

Sam had followed him over, bringing the whiskey that Gene was surprised at himself for forgetting. The younger man held it out, and Gene took it and slid it in his coat pocket, which had sagged into the right shape years ago. He turned and opened the door, drawing it towards him and stepping back to let Sam pass.

'Ladies first.' Sam only shook his head at that as we went by. Gene pulled the door to and set about locking it. Sam stood on the pavement, taking deep breaths and swaying a little. With the pub keys safely pocketed, too, Gene joined him.

'You're not driving, are you Guv?' Gene couldn't believe it, he was still going to get the lecture. He decided to skip it and shook his head.

'No, Tyler, I'll walk it. Don't worry.' Sam nodded, hands in his pockets, swaying on purpose now from the balls to the heels of his feet and back.

'Alright Guv. See you on Monday. Hope the missus doesn't give you a hard time when you get in.' He started off. Gene felt the words welling up before he was aware he was going to say them.

'Not much chance of that.' There, now he would tell someone. It might be good actually, Tyler was always saying that people should talk about things more. Of course, he could talk the hind legs off a donkey then sell them back, but maybe he was on to something. He was frowning down at the pavement now, not really turned around to face Gene but not walking any more, either.

'What?'

'She, er… she went to stay at her mother's…' Sam's shoulders came down and brow started to clear. '…for good, this time. She left me a note, says she's not coming back.' The frown came back and Sam lifted his head up now, looking at him. He seemed, for once, at a loss for words. He stood there with his mouth open, trying to find them.

'Shit,' he finally said, 'I'm sorry Guv.' He looked it too, so earnest. It was Gene's turn to look down at the pavement, suddenly sad and wishing he'd kept his trap shut.

'When?'

'Couple of weeks ago. She left while I was at work. Or maybe while I was at the pub. She says that's the problem, I'm always out somewhere. I spose she found a way to use it to her advantage; plenty of time to get packed up and write a Dear Gene letter.'

Sam wasn't sure if Gene was making a joke or if he really thought the phrase was 'Dear Gene'. He realised he was focusing on the wrong thing and tried to find some words of comfort.

'Shit.'

Gene huffed laughter. 'Thanks Sammy-boy. It was bound to happen eventually.'

'Are you OK?'

This brought a proper, if bitter, laugh. 'I don't know, and that's the truth. But if you tell anyone I said that I'll break your wrists. Any of this, in fact. It's between you and me, Tyler, OK?'

As if he had to ask. Sam was already nodding before the end of the sentence.

'Of course! Er… is there anything I can, you know… d'you need…?' he trailed off, not really sure what he was trying to offer but wanting the Guv to know that he, Sam, was there for him. He reached out to clap the bigger man on the shoulder.

'Alright you poof, I know you're always looking for an excuse to get yer hands on me but there's no need. Keep your grubby paws in your pockets.'

Sam did just that, giving a sad smile. 'Sorry Guv.'

They both stood silently now, looking at their shoes. Gene withdrew the bottle from his coat and opened it. He took a draught and held it out to Sam, nudging him on the arm with it when he didn't respond. Sam looked up then, taking the bottle but only holding it for now.

'What are you gonna do?' he asked, not really knowing what that meant but not knowing what else to say.

'Do? Nothing _to _do, is there? I'm gonna keep on being a copper and keeping the streets clean. I'm gonna keep on spending my wages in Nelson's till. I'm gonna have another drink of that Scotch if you're quite finished admiring it.'

He sounded angrier than he felt but all this talk about feelings was getting on his nerves. He watched as Sam took a nip from the bottle and passed it back, unhurriedly, not offended in the least. Tyler knew when he was angry with him, anyway, usually by the way their faces were an inch apart and his back was against a handy filing cabinet. He took the bottle back, wondering if Sam was going to try and get him to 'open up'. What a load of horseshit; if a man was meant to open up he'd have a zip up the back and Gene Hunt most definitely did not. He wasn't sure, now, if he was glad he'd said anything. Might have been better to carry on as he'd been going. Still, it was bound to come out eventually, had to start some time. The Scotch burned in his throat, warmed the rest of him. Tyler was still standing there rocking on his feet, seemingly still speechless. When he offered the bottle back it was met with a sideways glance and a headshake.

'Well, I'm glad we had this heart to heart, Tyler. Time to get home, eh? See you on Monday.'

Sam looked up as if to speak, then settled for nodding, the corners of his mouth downturned.

'Alright Guv. See you on Monday.'

Gene turned then without further ceremony, and stalked off into the night. The house wasn't too far, he'd be home in no time. Home to climb into a cold bed. Actually, right now, that didn't sound so bad. Maybe it was good to talk, after all.

Sam watched the Guv walk off, mouth open again. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard, or that he, of all people, would be Gene's only confidant. The Guv's wife, gone. She'd always been there in the background, a presence unseen but often felt. She'd be brought up as an example of the civilians they were there to protect; she was a key part of one of A division's favourite Christmas Night Out stories; she was invoked in the pub when Gene seemed hell bent on having one too many.

_Oh God, _ thought Sam. _Did I say that to him last weekend? And the one before? Have I been talking about her all this time? What an idiot. Idiot. _He wracked his brains, trying to remember. He didn't think he had brought her up recently, until tonight. Even if he had, he wasn't to know, was he? Nobody knew.

He marvelled over that again. Nobody else knew. Maybe that moment in the pub had been real? No, he was reading too much into things again. Bloody Scotch.

God, he couldn't believe this had happened and the Guv was just walking around as if nothing was wrong. They'd been married over twenty years, that was a long time to live with someone. When they're suddenly gone, how could you not feel upset? The Guv never was forthcoming with his feelings, of course. Maybe he was telling the truth when he said he didn't know how he felt; men from the seventies weren't expected to have the same emotional intelligence that men back home were. There were pros and cons to that, Sam thought.

He realised that he'd been standing there looking after Gene's diminishing back, and started on his way home. Thank God the flat was nearby; it was one of its few good qualities. He thought of getting there, climbing into a cold bed. For once, that didn't sound too bad.


	3. Chapter 3: Sense of Doubt

Chapter Three - Sense of Doubt

Sam woke up on Saturday morning and began to develop The Fear. He'd had an unusually good sleep; the details of getting home were hazy, but he'd woken up in the middle of the night, sitting in front of the TV, shoes off and shirt unbuttoned. The test card girl was on the screen, where she belonged, though she did seem to look a bit reproachful. He'd turned her off: that's where you can stay, you witch. He'd shuffled the few steps to the bed, shrugged off his shirt and trousers, and rolled in, pulling the battered old duvet round him. The next thing he remembered was waking up. No bad dreams, no waking himself up shouting, no cold sweats. No sweat at all actually; he had reached that special place populated by only the hungover, where he was fever hot but producing no sweat whatsoever. He felt like he was baking from the inside out. His head was a whirl of half-memories, the worst of which being

_Oh Lord, was I flirting with Gene Hunt? FLIRTING? With GENE? _

He remembered rationalising it to himself last night, thinking that he probably wouldn't even remember it this morning. Oh, the irony. He remembered in excruciating detail the long seconds of eye contact, the feeling of warmth in his stomach as he and the Guv laughed over some joke, the touch of their hands on the whiskey glass.

_Jesus_. He freed his hands from the stifling duvet to put them over his eyes, pressing hard enough to send silver rockets across the darkness. He scrubbed over the rest of his face, and, sitting up, through his hair. Sitting up did not agree with him, and he sat that way for a moment, hands on top of his head and eyes shut, in a private world of paranoia and pain. When the thumping subsided, he climbed carefully off the sagging mattress and padded towards the kitchen for water. He found an empty beans tin and a dirty fork and pot on the counter; at least he'd had the sense to eat something when he got in, then. As he ran the tap, he turned the events of last night over and over in his mind. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't a big deal, but it was a losing argument. God, why had he got so drunk?

That was the eternal question, of course. He and Maya had once amused themselves for hours trying to find as many different hangover types as they could, based on the first thing you thought to yourself when you woke up with one. His favourites were the Theological - 'Oh God' - the Scatological - 'Shit' - and the Philosophical - 'Why?'. This hangover had already ticked two of the boxes, and he'd additionally just made himself feel worse by thinking about Maya. There was a real world somewhere, a world where he'd never have had this hangover and would never, ever be standing here in his vest and pants, in front of a rusty old sink, wondering if he'd been flirting with an overweight, middle aged man. Even if that man did look good in a camelhair coat.

The water was running cold now, and he filled a glass for himself, leaving the tap running as he drank half of it in one go. He refilled it, stopped the water and shuffled back into the other room. The Fear started to abate a bit. He hadn't actually been flirting. They'd just had a couple of awkward eye contact moments, that was hardly big news, as leathered as they'd been. There was nothing to it. Besides, now that he thought about it, the first sign of flirting with Gene Hunt was probably his fist in your kidneys as he took you out for being a shirt lifter.

He drank more water, and checked his watch. He'd slept for eight hours, a personal record for recent times. Maybe that was just what he needed. Pity he'd woken up feeling like a manky old boot. He turned the TV back on and settled in the armchair, dragging the duvet off the hated bed while holding his water steady with the other hand. He could sit this hangover out for a few hours before he went out for a jog. He would just sit here, and wait it out, Fear or no Fear.

Gene Hunt had never had The Fear in his life. He wouldn't recognise it as a Thing with Capital Letters if you said it to him, wouldn't understand it even if you tried to explain. He knew fear alright, oh yes, but this soft business, all doubt and despair? Bollocks. He did, however, know what a hangover was, and he had a reasonable one of those right now. He drew himself upright on the couch - he'd never made it to the cold bed, it seeming less appealing when it was a reality in front of him - and looked around. The wool blanket he'd brought downstairs tangled itself up in his legs. He spotted his fags and hipflask on the table, and reached out for both. A hair of the dog wouldn't hurt. He lit up and sat back, propping his feet on the table and exhaling loudly, a thin stream of smoke jetting into the air. He wondered how Tyler was this morning; he'd never seen the man so drunk. He'd still been compos mentis enough to nag Gene about drink driving though; Gene thought he was probably never to drunk to pick some fault or other. He had walked, though, and he'd have to go back and get the car later. He might stop in for a pint while he was about it.

He contemplated the days ahead as he smoked. There was nothing going on in CID that meant he had to be in there - at least, not yet - so he might actually have a real weekend, two days off. He had no idea how to fill them. Usually a weekend off would be a visit to the in-laws, an interminable afternoon of tea and forced politeness, followed by a night in front of the TV with a few cans. Sundays would be driving the missus to and from church, a read of the papers, maybe a game of darts then back home for a roast before an early night out of boredom. There wasn't even a darts game this week. God, what did people do? Well, he could manage the TV and cans part, anyway, that would be enough until Monday came around. He puffed his cigarette and unscrewed the top of the flask with the other hand, taking a nip without really thinking about it. First order of business would be a shower, a shit and a shave before he went to get the Cortina. At least that old girl would never leave him, eh?

Thinking this, he stubbed out his fag in the mostly clean ashtray (he wasn't the kind of man who would let his home, his castle, go to rack and ruin without a woman around) and heaved himself out of the sofa's embrace. The blanket he roughly folded and set to the side, knowing he might want it again tonight. He stomped upstairs to start the day.

Sam's weekends, when they happened, were low key affairs, especially when you compared them to his real life. There were no cocktail parties here in 1973; no barbecues in middle class gardens, no romantic dinners in nice restaurants, not even a movie and a takeaway. There was him, Sam, and sometimes the Test Card Girl. He would rather be on his own, no matter how lonely he felt that kid was never bloody welcome. He wondered what the Guv had been doing with his most recent weekends, how he was adjusting to single life. No more trips to the mother in law's or whatever married couples did at the weekends. It might not be all bad. He thought back to the conversation they'd had outside the pub, analysing his own words and actions, hoping he'd communicated the correct amount of concern. He remembered Gene telling him to keep his hands to himself; that had been a joke though. Definitely just a joke.

He felt like he might ready to venture outside. The jog had been an ambitious plan, but he could manage out to the shops at least. He was still feeling The Fear, but it came in waves now instead of haranguing him constantly. When he felt like he had reached a spell of low tide, he got out of the chair and headed for the tinpot shower, scrubbing himself as if he could cure his psychological ails as easily as he could banish the smell of the pub from his hair. He found himself humming a tune toward the end, standing under the lukewarm water and actually feeling as though human might be within reach. He padded back into the main room and dressed, singing not quite out loud by now. Finally suited and booted, he was ready to face the streets. He was only planning on going as far as the corner shop to get a few essentials - bread, milk, Lucozade and something in a can for dinner. Hoops, maybe. He smiled - he'd never been able to look a tin of spaghetti hoops in the face since his first meeting with the Guv. The man had a turn of phrase, you couldn't deny it. 'Avin 'oops might just be the order of the evening for Sam. The shop might even have a tin of rice pudding if he was lucky. What a rock and roll lifestyle, he smirked to himself. Dinner out of tins. He was too hungover to get out for a proper shop though, as much as he'd have liked to cook something. Sometimes the corner shop had bags of potatoes, so it was possible he could stretch to a corned beef hash. Maybe he should save that delicacy for Sunday dinner.

Caught up in his thoughts, he'd made his way out of the flat and on to the street. The shop was only a few blocks away, that was far enough for him to get some air about him, straighten his head up and come out of this paranoid mood. That said, it was lunchtime now, maybe he should go a bit further afield and get something from a caff? Wouldn't be too bad to spend a bit of time out of the house. That sounded like a decent plan, he decided, and when he came to the newsagents he stopped only to get a paper, so he'd have something to read over his sandwich and cuppa.

Gene felt a lot better; the powers of a wash, a change of clothes and a few nips of whiskey shouldn't be underestimated. He was ready to get on with the day, and the rest of the weekend, and he wouldn't be spending any of it thinking about his feelings or moping about. First stop, the greasy spoon on the main road for one of their bacon rolls. Then, on to the pub to get the Cortina and a carry out. His coat was in its accustomed place over the back of the armchair, and he swept it up on his way to the door, listening for the reassuring jangle of keys in the pocket. He found his keys, his wallet, his badge and the forgotten Scotch bottle. He remembered now sharing it with Tyler as they stood outside the Railway Arms, both of them made awkward by the unusually personal line of conversation. After he'd regarded it for a minute, the bottle went back into the living room, for later. He stepped out of the house, locked up and proceeded to the caff, back straight and taking long strides. He took a deep breath of the air, enjoying its coolness, and tugged a fag packet out of his coat. Always did to have a few packets on the go. He lit up and took a long, satisfying drag. Onwards and upwards.

He made it to the Railway Arms, bacon roll dutifully digested. It was quiet at this time on a Saturday, and Nelson was in behind the bar, leafing through a book. He looked up when Gene walked in, and flashed him a broad smile.

'Mister Hunt! Thought I'd be seein' you today,' he said, stepping up to the taps to pour a pint. He lifted a glass and raised one eyebrow in a question. Gene nodded, making his way round to the end of the bar where an inviting stool stood. He settled himself on it, feeling the familiar comfort of being here, in the pub.

'Late night last night, was it?' Nelson asked, filling the glass with bitter with a practised hand. 'You must have been here a long while if you had to leave the ole girl out back.'

'Late enough Nelson. Everything OK this morning was it?'

'Of course Mister Hunt, as always.' He put the pint up on the bar, waving off the Guv's offer of money. 'How was Sam when you last saw him?' Before Gene answered he saw several snapshots of the night flicker past his mind's eye. He and Sam laughing, brushing Sam's hand off the top of his glass, watching the plonks and Phyllis swoon over Sam's 'modern values' and feeling a stab of secret jealousy. He looked at Nelson's wise face, and wondered how much of all that the barman had been aware of. If he knew Nelson, he was probably aware of everything, and then some. He didn't get the chance to reply to the question anyway, as the barman carried on speaking, apparently keen to get something off his chest.

'Actually... Heard you two leaving last night,' he said, giving Gene cause for concern as he started his drink. 'With the flat being upstairs, and the bedroom right at the front like it is... Well, I can't help overhearing sometimes.' He looked apologetically at the other man, confirming his fears, and lowered his voice. 'I'm sorry about your woman.'

Gene shrugged, swallowing and putting the glass back down. 'Nothing to be done Nelson. No point crying over spilt milk, eh?' His bravado didn't seem to phase Nelson, who smiled a little sadly at him but didn't pursue the matter.

'Sam must have been alright anyway, if you got him on his feet and walking home. When I went upstairs I thought he might be setting up camp for the night.' The barman chuckled to himself, his usual good humour seemingly unbreakable even by wives who left while their husband was at work. Gene smiled at him briefly, then took another sip. He didn't feel the need to ask Nelson to keep the news to himself. For one he'd have overheard him telling Tyler the same thing, and for another he'd rarely met anyone as discreet. Part of the territory he supposed, barmen must hear an awful lot of personal revelations when the punters were in their cups.

'He wasn't too drunk to nag me about driving, I can tell you that much,' he said, happy to keep the conversation off the topic of his marriage. Nelson laughed again, then moved off to pour another pint. Gene carried on with his own, letting his gaze pan round the quiet room and thinking of nothing much except how many cans he'd want for later, and if he wanted to add a half bottle to his order. If his eyes stopped on the table he and Sam had been at last night, he wasn't aware of it. By the time Nelson came back he'd settled on a number of beers, plus a half of whiskey, and asked the barman to bag up the necessary. That would see him through the weekend, he reckoned, as he handed over the cash. He finished up his pint and waved away the offer of another, standing to lift his carry out off the bar.

'See you soon mon brahv,' Nelson said. Gene only nodded his reply and set off for the Cortina, and home.

Sam left the cafe feeling much more like himself (whoever that was). He meandered back to the flat, stopping off to pick up the essentials he'd listed earlier plus a bag of spuds and a bottle of red. Well, after all, it was Saturday night. He'd also passed by a run down charity shop and bought himself a couple of paperbacks; there was only so much TV that one man could watch. It occurred to him that he could have got his carry out from Nelson, and maybe some intelligent conversation to go with it. Probably for the best that he hadn't Returning to the scene of extreme drunkenness was best left a few days, in his experience. He made his way up the stairs to his bedsit, his heart sinking as usual when he opened the front door on to the same old peeling wallpaper and mouldering carpet. The first order of business would be to tidy it up a bit; get the dishes washed up, maybe some clean sheets on the heap of iron bars and springs masquerading as a bed. He'd feel better after he did. So thinking, Sam closed the door behind him and began getting his house in order. He'd reward himself with a glass of wine with dinner, and take the rest of the weekend one step at a time.


	4. Chapter 4: Around and Around

Chapter Four - Around and Around

Sam was amazed on Monday by how normal Gene was. There was no hint of his new circumstances, to the point where Sam wondered a couple of times whether or not they'd had the conversation he remembered outside the pub. The Guv looked the same, smelled the same and sounded the same as ever. Sam paused over his paperwork for a moment as he rewound his thoughts; 'smelled the same'? Well, it was only the truth. Sam was familiar with the smell of Gene Hunt; smoke, wool, whiskey, aftershave and the faint soapy hint of washing powder. He was drawn into a cloud of it every time they had a fight, like it or not, and as smells went it wasn't such a bad combination. It hadn't changed, anyway, that was the point. Some might have expected the Guv to be lost without a woman to do his laundry, press his shirts and generally look after the small stuff so that the the man himself could get on with the important business of being the Gene Genie. Sam would have suspected otherwise, and his suspicions seemed to be confirmed today; Gene hadn't changed a bit in all the time his missus had been away. This fact was evidenced not only by his appearance, but also by the fact he'd already called Chris a cack-handed spiv half a dozen times before lunch. Chris took it with his usual good, if baffled, nature. Nobody seemed to have a clue that anything was different.

He and the Guv hadn't really crossed paths over the morning. It wasn't the kind of office where you exchanged much by way of pleasantries at the start of the week. Annie had come by his desk, though, smiling coyly.

'Hello, Sleeping Beauty,' she'd said, eyes glinting.

'Morning,' said Sam, smiling back at her. 'Was I out of it when you left then?'

Annie nodded. 'Spark out on the table. Snoring and everything,' she giggled. Sam feigned outrage.

'I do not snore!' She laughed more at this, shaking her head.

'All right, maybe not snoring... You look better for it today mind you. Maybe you ought to start sleeping in the pub more often?'

Sam shrugged, pretending to consider it. 'You might be on to something there.' This, he told himself with a squirm of unease, was flirting. He couldn't deny it. He hoped Annie didn't read any more into it than just that, harmless office flirtation, and sometimes he could even convince himself that was true. Right now wasn't one of those times.

'Well anyway,' she said, seeming to see some of this in his eyes, 'I'd best get back. You know how it is - paperwork to do, tea to make.' She smirked, making fun of herself. He nodded, the edges of his smile lowering.

'See you later on, yeah?' She agreed, and made her way out of the office to the desk. Sam cursed himself silently. Why did it have to be so complicated? He was too old for this shit. He liked Annie, very much, and sometimes he was even sure there was something more to it, but something always held him back from taking their relationship beyond gentle flirtation and the occasional glass of wine somewhere other than the Railway Arms. She was such a nice girl, he wished he'd kept a professional distance from the start and avoided all this. Of course, when you tell someone you're from the future within 24 hours of meeting them, it has a certain effect on your relationship. There's no going back from that.

He came out of his reverie to find the Guv standing over him. He could be so quiet, the man, for someone of his size. Sam looked up at him.

Gene had eased himself in to the start of the week. There was still no action, and while there was always paperwork to be done he tended to leave that to his DI. Sam was much more suited to all the pen pushing, he could clean up four or five files in the time it took anyone else to finish one. You had to know your team's strengths, apply them where they were most needed. He thought all this as he sat in his office, feet up on the desk, leisurely smoking a fag. He'd been out and around the desks earlier on, spoken to Ray and sent Chris to get him a cuppa and some biscuits; couldn't let the DC get complacent. He'd shuffled through some files on his desk, signed off some reports and the pile of overdue overtime sheets, but generally done not much of anything. Occasionally he'd strolled out around his kingdom, listening in on the conversations and wishing a shout would come up. It was all very well having an easy start but this was taking it too far. He didn't trust it when it was so quiet.

From his office, he could see Cartwright walk over to Tyler, watch their brief conversation. He had no idea what was going on there, which annoyed him no end. He usually knew every detail of what went on in this station, prided himself on it, but here was this thing happening with those two and he couldn't figure it out. There were times when it looked like they might end up rolling around on one of the desks, snogging the faces off each other, and then there were times, like today, when they were obviously being friendly but something was lacking. Tyler's face, usually so easy to read, had a frozen look about it, especially around the eyes. He was shutting Cartwright out, and neither she nor Gene had any idea why.

He thought he might try to find out, since there was no other detective work needing doing. As Cartwright walked away, Gene stepped quietly from the office and over to Sam's desk. He could see that Tyler had some papers open in front of him, and a pen in his hand, but in the time it took Gene to cross the distance from office to desk he didn't see him write a single word. He didn't look up straight away, even when Gene's shadow fell across him. He really must be deep in thought; Gene thought he recognised a guilty conscience when he saw one. But guilty about what?

Sam finally looked up, regarding the Guv from under long lashes. Gene had never noticed anyone's eyelashes before, least of all another bloke, but right now it seemed unbelievable that Tyler's hadn't caught his attention before now. They looked soft, shading his dark hazel eyes, all part of Sam's girly charm. If you liked that sort of thing. Neither spoke at first, lost in their own thoughts, but Gene came back to himself.

'Morning Tyler. How was the head on Saturday?'

'Yeah alright,' Sam smiled ruefully. 'Think I maybe had one too many.'

'One? You were out of your depth Sunbeam. Swayin in the breeze. I, on the other hand, could have finished that bottle meself and still driven home.'

Sam looked concerned. 'I thought you walked?'

'Don't get your knickers in a twist, Gladys, I did. Couldn't be bothered with your nagging, could I?'

Sam nodded, appeased.

'Come on, we're going out,' commanded the Guv. Sam raised an eyebrow. 'Well, if the shouts aren't going to come to us, maybe we should go to them.' Sam didn't look convinced but got up anyway, lifting his coat. They filed out, not bothering to explain to the others. They knew better then to question the Guv, anyway, he thought with some pride.

They drove around, passing some of the usual haunts for the city's troublemakers, but there was nothing to see.

'All quiet on the Western Front,' said Sam. Gene laughed, once, his stony face not flickering. Sam lapsed back into silence, feeling a bit uncomfortable in it. Usually when the Guv was quiet like this it meant that a storm was brewing, and while The Fear had abated on Saturday afternoon and not returned all weekend, some of its more concerning ideas were coming back to the surface. Was the Guv regretting their conversation outside the pub that much? Or was there something else, something about their brief skin contact and unblinking eyes?

'Thanks, Sam,' said Gene, almost making Sam jump. For a moment he couldn't process what the other man had said, it was so unexpected.

'What for?'

'Not telling anyone, you know...' Gene glanced over at the passenger seat quickly, then back to the road. Sam didn't really know what to say.

'Well, who would I tell? Me and Ray aren't exactly best buddies,' he managed, over pronouncing the Americanism, hoping it might lighten the atmosphere.

'No, but it might not have done you any harm to let it slip to Cartwright when you were having your little chat this morning. Might have made you seem clever. Might finally have got her knickers off.' He gave another fleeting glance over, to see what effect this had had. Sam gave a disapproving look, by reflex, at the way Gene spoke about women.

'Of course not,' he said dismissively. He was surprised Gene had noticed him talking to Annie earlier, he'd thought the Guv had been buried in hated paperwork in his office. He felt a flash of guilt, again, when he remembered their conversation. Why? Why did it have to be so difficult? And if the Guv had started noticing he was probably in for some jibes about it, if not now then before long. And once that started, CID would be like a playground, with all the lads joining in. Someone might even sing 'K-I-S-S-I-N-G' - though, thinking about it, 'My Ding-a-Ling' would be more likely. He could do without it, whatever it would be.

'What's going on with you and Cartwright then, anyway?' There it was. Damn. Sam looked down at his hands, wondering what to say. He knew the Guv would want some flippant reply, preferably with some sexual innuendo thrown in, but he couldn't bring himself to speak like that about Annie. He had no idea how to sum it all up and present it in a way the the Guv would understand and, if he was lucky, accept without too much mockery. Nothing came to mind.

'Nothing, Guv,' he said, flatly, shifting his gaze to look out of the window. He didn't think it would be enough, but how was he supposed to confide to Gene his innermost thoughts and feelings, confused and unbelievable as they were? People already gave him looks when he forgot that he was supposed to be from Hyde, or mentioned TV programmes that nobody had ever heard of. Annie was the only one who had heard the whole, crazy story and, bless her, she had kept it to herself.  
As predicted, the Guv wasn't ready to let it lie. 'Doesn't seem like nothing. You two are quite the topic of choice, these days.' He spoke with a slightly sniffy tone, like a disapproving landlady. Sam shrugged out at the passing warehouses.

'Well, it is. Nothing. People like to talk round here.'

There was more silence, still feeling too heavy. They drew up at some traffic lights, and the Guv looked over at him properly. He had a considering look on his face, weighing up Sam's response. Sam tried not to, but found himself looking back aggressively.

'What?' he snapped. Gene said nothing for a little longer, then gave his own one-shouldered shrug.

'Don't know what to believe about you, Sammy-boy. You're a mystery, aren't yer?'

Sam sighed. 'That's me Guv. One big mystery wrapped in an enigma.'

'Misery wrapped in an enema, more like,' Gene shot back. Sam didn't react at all. He was feeling thoroughly pissed off, he had troubles enough without getting dragged out on a pointless excursion that seemed mainly to be a front for the Guv prying into his personal life. Since when did Gene want to have a heart to heart with him, anyway?

Well, he supposed Friday had been a bit of a heart to heart... but that's not how it was supposed to go. You didn't automatically have to tell someone all your troubles just because they spilled their own on a drunken night at the pub. He was working his way into a right fury here, but he was beyond talking himself down. Bugger Gene, he was getting nothing.

The lights changed and Gene roared off with his customary lack of finesse. He was surprised by Sam's obvious anger. He was only asking a few questions, for the love of God, it wasn't the Spanish Inquisition. He hadn't even got any answers, that was the worst of it. No crimes to punish and no answers from his own DI. Not a good state of affairs. The silence in the car wasn't the usual easy silence of people who had nothing that needed said, it was most definitely an Atmosphere. Gene hated Atmospheres.

He spared another glance across and was rewarded with Tyler's profile, eyes fixed out of the window, mouth drawn up into a scowl. Bloody hell, he was in a right strop. This business with Cartwright must be getting to him. Gene brought his eyes back to the road, turning past yet more warehouses and cursing the absence of anything to do. Movement caught his eye and he looked over.

'Oh look!' he said, with false cheer. 'It's our pal Briggs!' This drew some reaction from Tyler, who looked out at the man walking along ahead of them. He said nothing, so Gene carried on.

'Let's stop for a chat, shall we?' Matching his actions to his words, he sped up until they had just passed Briggs, then slammed on the brakes and hopped out of the car. Briggs was a fence, and one who could usually be counted on to spill any nefarious activities that had somehow gone under the CID's radar. Sam rolled down his window, refusing to jump just because the Guv said so.

'Hello Briggs,' said Gene, sauntering up to the man. 'How's business?'

Briggs looked at the Guv, eyes wide and looking like a rabbit in the headlights. Then, without warning, he turned and ran back the way he'd come, casting one frightened look over his shoulder as he went.

'OI!' Gene roared, setting off in pursuit.

'Shit,' Sam hissed, grabbing the radio. 'Alpha One, this is eight seven zero, Tyler. Leaving the vehicle, setting off in pursuit, Chatsworth Road.' He was half out of the car before he'd even finished, and didn't wait for Phyllis to respond before he dashed off down the street. He hoped the Guv had taken the keys out of the Cortina. He caught up to the pursuer as Briggs ducked down an alley. Neck and neck with the Guv, Sam followed, his whole being focused on the chase. He could hear Gene panting, now just behind him, and turned the corner to see the door of an abandoned building, still swinging from being slammed open. He followed without hesitation. He could hear footsteps but couldn't decide whether their quarry had gone off up the staircase to the right or straight across the now-empty factory floor and through the doorway on the opposite side. He slowed down, trying to listen, but the echoes in this place made it impossible. Gene had come to a halt at his back. Both stood where they were, breathing hard and looking around for any evidence of Briggs' whereabouts. He'd either stopped running or got away, because the sound of his footsteps had gone. For all they knew, the door on the other side of the building led straight back out into the street.

Sam looked at Gene for instruction. There was none forthcoming. He gestured up the stairs nodding at Gene, then at the door while holding a hand on his own chest. The message was obvious - let's split up. Gene shook his head, and all Sam's anger came flooding back.

'Why not?' he asked in an angry whisper. 'He's in here somewhere.' Gene's face started to show familiar signs of his own anger.

'Because I said so, that's why not and that's good enough for you, Tyler,' he retorted, in a similarly low register. He glared at his DI, daring him to challenge him.

'Well what ground-breaking plan do you have then, Guv?' He pronounced the title like an insult, loading it with sarcasm. Gene's lips pursed as he glowered, and he took a big step nearer to Sam, not quite in his face yet but not far off it.

'I plan to listen for Briggs making a break for it, which he will because he's shit scared, and then I plan on catching him and beating the crap out of him for wasting my time, which he probably is.' His flushed face leaned closer and he locked eyes with Sam, inviting disagreement.  
'You'd probably get a bit further with that plan if you stopped talking and actually used your ears for a change,' the retort came, neither man whispering any longer, and Gene took the last half step that put him right in Tyler's space, hands still lowered but shoulders squared and maintaining his hostile glare. Sam shifted his stance just a little, preparing for the inevitable shove that would start today's fist fight.

'You little...'

'Oh what? What now? Fairy? Poof? Smug git? Or are you going for something original today? I can hardly wait to hear...'

He was cut off by a blow to the stomach; he should have been expecting it but damn it, the man was quick. He never gave anything away in his eyes, that was the trouble. This thought went across Sam's head in a split second as he bent forwards, winded. He spun himself to catch the knee that was aimed at his kidneys. He grabbed with both hands and twisted, sending Gene off balance and stumbling. Sam kept his hold on the other man's leg and pushed with the considerable might of the anger he'd been building up for the last half hour or so. Gene toppled backwards, falling against the metal railings of the staircase. He sprang forward again, running at Sam with eyes flashing, and landed a clumsy but solid punch on his jaw. Sam felt lucky that the blow was left handed, it had been enough to make his head swim and a shot with the right would have taken him down like a ton of bricks. He tucked his head in behind his hands and blocked the follow up punch, then aimed a blow of his own at Gene's chin. He found his hand caught, arm twisted round and up his back, and his whole body forced round and across the floor until he was pressed against the handrail, wincing. Gene had got him yet again, and Sam cursed out loud, then grunted as his arm was pushed further up between his shoulder blades.

'Are you done?' asked Gene, his breath hot on Sam's neck as he stood in close again. 'Cos I could do this all day.' Sam usually knew better than to struggle, but not today. He leaned his weight on the handrail and used the purchase to stamp on the Guv's foot, hard. For once, he took Gene by surprise, and the pressure on his arm let up. He spun round and shoved, meaning to create a bit of distance. He got half a step, which wasn't really enough but he'd take it. Working fast, he ducked in under the right hook Gene was throwing at him and hooked his right leg around behind the Guv's knee, pushing on his shoulders. The Guv pivoted around Sam's leg, as planned, and fell to the ground. The only problem was that Sam hadn't managed to get himself out of the way in time and lost his footing; Gene grabbed at his leather jacket and dragged him down to the concrete next to him. He fell badly, winding himself again, and lay there wheezing.

Neither man made a move to get up, or to continue their fight. Even if they did have a scrap more often than Sam could really give credit to, they at least had the dignity not to roll around on the floor like schoolboys. Eventually, Gene said, 'Not bad for you, Sammy-boy,' drew his cigarettes from his pocket and proceeded to light one. Sam rolled his head to look at him, and saw a calm face, mouth sending streams of smoke towards the grey ceiling. Sam had no reply to this grudging compliment, and no breath to say it with even if he had. He rolled his head back and stared straight up. After a minute or two, he heard footsteps, and Briggs shuffled over, looking down at the two men.

'Er... Are you looking for me?' he asked, still looking frightened but with an added level of confusion over the sight of CID's finest lying in a half-tangled heap on the floor. He must have been hiding somewhere right next to them, Sam thought. What an embarrassment.

'Yeh - give us a hand up, would you?' said Gene, holding out one hand to the man. The fence took it, nervously, and helped the Guv to his feet. Once there, he dusted himself off and took a final draw of his cigarette, pitching it across the room when he was done. Then, without warning, he grabbed Briggs by the lapels and lifted him so he could shout face to face.

'What are you playing at, running? When I want to talk to you, you say 'how high?', you got that?' Sam opened his mouth to correct him, but thought better of it. 'I ought to charge you with causing an affray! Now you tell me what you know, you little prick, or I'll have you banged up quicker than you can say 'police brutality'.'

Briggs was quaking now. 'I don't know nuffing Guv I swear! I only ran cos you was chasing me!'

Sam actually believed him, and Gene obviously did too since he put him back on his feet. Briggs was a squealer, you only had to look at him crosswise for him to confess everything he knew; being held off the ground by an angry Gene Hunt would have had him spilling his guts in double time.

'Nothing doing then? No jobs you might want to drop us a hint about, on the down low and out of the goodness of your heart?'

Briggs shook his head vehemently. 'I've got nuffing!' he said again.

'Well piss off then,' said the Guv, and Briggs didn't need to be told twice, and scampered off out the door. Gene turned to find Sam still on the ground, sitting up now. He offered his hand, and Sam took it, hauling himself to his feet but not unwary of a fresh attack. You couldn't put anything past the Guv, not if you had any sense. They stood facing each other, Sam tensed and Gene casual, hands in pockets.

'Feeling better?' he asked mildly. Sam, who was definitely not feeling better, gave him a hard look. Gene knew the younger man didn't get the same sense of satisfaction from a good fight as he did, though he couldn't understand it. With any other bloke that would be them back to an even keel again. With Sam, you had to talk about things, always talking. Never an apology though; Gene hadn't gone soft.

'D'you wanna take another pop at me?' he asked, not above goading Tyler when he was in a bad mood. It briefly looked as though this time the suggestion might be appealing , but he kept himself in check.

'I think we've got better things to do than scrap in some abandoned building,' he gave back, voice thick with superiority. Gene turned the corners of his mouth down, a facial shrug.

'I suppose we might have, by now. Still, though - not bad.' This praise, faint and inappropriate as it was, actually seemed to appease Sam.

'Yeah, well... My Taekwondo instructor would say otherwise.' He felt his jaw tenderly then flexed his wrist with a slight grimace.

Gene had no idea what Tyler was on about. It wasn't good form to always go about admitting your ignorance though. He did what he always did, and pretended Tyler hadn't said anything.

'Ready to get back to the car?'

'If it's still there,' Sam replied, smirking a bit at the thought of Gene losing his precious Cortina to a joyrider.

'Of course it's still there you prick,' he snapped, tugging the keys out of his pocket and shaking them. 'Even if I didn't have these, which I do, nobody would nick my motor.'

Sam nodded, knowing the Guv was right, and looked down at the ground. Without realising it, he'd adopted the other man's posture, hands in pockets and standing at ease. Gene had noticed, and approved. Sam had mentioned this thing in the pub one night; mirroring, he called it. He'd been telling Chris about getting on with birds and how to know if they liked you and all that. Apparently when people had respect for each other, they would unconsciously match their body language. Something to do with how we were all monkeys once and subconscious urges. Gene had tuned in and out of the discussion, bored with all the chatter and waiting for the good bit. Anyway, he could see Tyler doing it now and he approved; if you didn't have respect, you didn't have anything.

He was pretending to himself that Sam hadn't used the word 'fancied' and not 'respected'.

They walked back to the car, which was predictably exactly where they'd left it. Sam took a slight, uneasy pride when Gene limped on his first few steps. They climbed back into their accustomed seats, and got back on the road. Sam radioed in to Phyllis, letting her know they were back in the vehicle and travelling.

Silence reigned again at first, though a more natural absence of talk than it had been before. Sam started to think he'd got away with not talking about Annie any more, with which he was more than happy. He leaned forward to turn on the radio when the Guv spoke.

'Look, Tyler, I have to know what's going on with Cartwright. Can't have her batting her eyelashes at you all day and not doing any work.'

Sam sat back, sighing openly. He didn't otherwise respond, so Gene tried again.

'I'm not trying to give you a hard time. Just tell me if you two have been bumping uglies and we can say no more about it.'

Sam whirled round as much as he could in the confined space. 'Would you just bloody leave it? Nothing is happening. Nothing has happened.' He paused. 'Nothing will ever happen.'

Gene heard something in his tone that surprised him. He knew Tyler could make a mountain out of an anthill but he would have thought he was above getting hung up over a piece of skirt, at least. Someone had his bollocks in a vice, anyway, though he was starting to wonder if it was Cartwright after all.

'Knock you back, did she?' It was a cheap shot, but he was tired of the gentle approach. Well, gentler, anyway. Sam's eyes flashed again.

'Would you just leave it?'

'No I will not leave it, Tyler, I order you to tell me what the bloody hell is going on! Now!' Gene's roar filled the cramped space, making Sam blink involuntarily.

Sam had no idea what was going to get him out of this. He couldn't explain what was going on, not when he didn't know himself. It was all so confusing when he tried to think about it that he invariably had to pour himself a drink, then another, then usually a third. He was still angry with the Guv, but he was beginning to realise that he might actually be more angry at life than anything else, and using Gene as a convenient target. Even as he thought this, he felt his expression change, less rage and more sadness.

_Jesus, am I going to cry? In front of Gene? Pull yourself together, man._

He got a hold of himself, looking straight ahead out of the windscreen again instead of over at Gene. He took a deep breath, then let it out when he still had no idea what to say. On his second attempt, he managed something:

'I like Annie, and I think she probably likes me too...'

'Very good, Sherlock,' came the interruption. Sam ignored it.

'...but there is nothing going on except a normal, friendly relationship between two colleagues.' This time Gene snorted. Sam was exasperated but the anger of before had definitely dissipated. He struggled again for the right words.

'So, you can forget about it, because nothing is ever going to happen. My situation is too complicated to get involved with anyone.' He gazed morosely out of the window, hating this conversation, hating the truths it was making him face up to.

'Whaddyou mean, situation? You haven't got the clap, have you?' Sam rolled his eyes. God help us, the man was determined to wind him up.

'I'm not gonna dignify that with a response,' he said, primly. Gene was lighting another fag, didn't reply.

'It's just, there's someone else. Kind of. Well, there used to be. And, you know, I'll be going back to Hyde before long, can't commit to anything. Anyone.' Gene looked over at him, eyes shielded with smoke. Sam bore his gaze for as long as he could without returning it, but found his head drawn around nonetheless. He thought the Guv might finally be ready to let it lie.

'This someone else...' he started.

'What?' Sam asked, not snapping now but definitely testy.

There was a long pause.

'Was it a bloke?'

Gene wasn't sure what had made him ask that, what had brought it to mind, but suddenly it seemed to him that maybe all the times he'd wound Tyler up about being light on his loafers, he might not actually have been wrong. He wasn't sure how he'd feel if that was true. He turned his eyes back to the road, continuing their aimless drive, not heading back to the station yet. He could feel Sam's surprise at the question. He still hadn't answered.

'No. Not a bloke,' he said, finally. His tone was still nippy, but he didn't seem to feel the need to bluster about it, shout and swear like any other of CID would have done. As if it was a reasonable question, almost. As if the answer might have been yes.

Gene tried to figure out what he really thought here. Everyone gave Tyler abuse about being a girly nonce but he'd never thought it was actually true. Alright, he had some funny ideas, dressed like a twat and never talked about shagging with the rest of them, but you could tell he was looking at women, usually when he thought nobody was paying attention. Gene had never seen him look at another man that way.

Well, maybe apart from...

Gene felt a flutter of unease that was absolutely not tinged with interest.

'Alright Sammy-boy, I believe yer. I'll leave it out, about Cartwright.'

Sam spread his hands, leaning his head back on the seat and rolling his eyes heavenward. 'Thank you,' he said, not sounding in the least grateful.

'Let's get back and see if there hasn't been some lovely crime or other for us to sort out.'

Saying that, Gene drove them back to the station.


	5. Chapter 5: Friday on My Mind

Chapter Five - Friday on My Mind

The rest of the week had continued as quiet and slow as Monday morning. There were a couple of robberies, a noise complaint that Sam was sure Phyllis only sent them on to get them out from under her feet, and a stabbing that took no time to sort out, given that the culprit was found at the murder scene, blade in hand, saying 'It was an accident,' rather feebly. As it happened, he'd only managed to hit the guy in the arm, which might have been the accidental part. He was banged up before he could say anything else, leaving a paper trail that took ten times as long to deal with.

On Wednesday, a call had come through from the Super to say they had a missing persons case that required Hunt's personal attention. His twin nieces hadn't been seen since the day before, and he was assuming the worst, having it in his head that they'd been scooped up by a sex trafficker. There were two groups suspected of that kind of thing in the city, though there had never been any hard evidence against them. Ray and Chris were sent to stake out a known residence of one group's ringleaders, while the Guv and Sam took the other. They had sat outside, in Gene's car instead of one of the unmarked ones as protocol would suggest (a detail Sam had been unable to refrain from pointing out, and which Gene roundly ignored as expected), from Wednesday to Friday, passing the detail to a second set of officers at night. The suspect went out to the shops a few times, on one notable occasion stopping in at the pub for several hours where he consumed Guinness, one pint of, Scotch, four measures of and packet of pork scratchings, one. This was by way of being the highlight of the stakeout, and both men were bored stiff by Friday afternoon, despite the potential gravity of the situation.

'This is a waste of time,' said Gene, yet again. He was restless, hated being cooped up like this all hours. Ray and Chris had had nothing more to report than they did, less if anything. The plods were carrying out their own missing persons investigation, with public appeals and the usual leg work. There were no leads, and things were looking grim. Sam tried to remind the Guv of this.

'There's two girls missing, here. Show some respect,' he scolded. Gene fixed him with a look.

'Exactly, there's two girls missing, and we're just sitting here on our arses!' He had a point. Sam had been skeptical about this detail from the start, and as time passed his suspicions seemed to be confirmed. The Guv lit another cigarette, either oblivious to or ignoring Sam's wrinkled nose, and took a long draw before firing out a stream of blue smoke.

'Go out and get us something to eat. I'll hold the fort.' The heavy sarcasm in his tone didn't go unnoted, but Sam wasn't as needled by the request as he might normally be; it would be alright to stretch his legs, get a bite to eat. 'Alright,' he said, amicably enough. 'Usual?' Gene nodded, staring over at the house and smoking his fag.

Sam stepped out of the car and walked off towards the nearest greasy spoon. A roll and anything fried for the Guv, and whatever they had that wasn't dripping in saturated fat for himself, maybe a couple of cans of coke. What a week. What a dull week. Times like this were hard, there was so little to keep his mind active. The radio seemed to speak to him much more often. The Test Card Girl hadn't been so bad lately, though, for which he could only be grateful.

He and the Guv hadn't come to blows again since Monday, which was something else to be grateful for. In fact they'd been back to normal after the whole debacle, spending the hours in the car between comfortable silence and inconsequential chat. Sam hadn't joined him in the pub through the week, preferring to keep his beer intake at a sane level, but this hadn't been taken amiss. He was also sure the Guv had kept his word with regard to Annie - nobody was singing playground rhymes at him, anyway. There had been no further questions about it, either, or any repeat of that odd line of enquiry the Guv had touched on at the end of their conversation.

_'This someone else...'_

_'What?'_

_..._

_'Was it a bloke?'_

Sam was used to, if not happy about, his status as the 'queer' of the office. It was mostly not bad natured, except when it came to Ray, and he had to admit that he was different to the other men. Nobody really seemed to believe he was gay, though, or he was sure he'd have had more fights on his hands. The Guv's question had come out of the blue, and he'd seemed genuinely curious instead of utterly disapproving. He was unpredictable, was Gene.

Sam had always been comfortable in his own sexuality, and been impatient with that dated 'backs to the wall!' attitude that some other men had. He wasn't gay, though, regardless of how open minded he was. The thought of being with another man in that way - skin to skin, a flat chest instead of curves - did nothing for him. The thought of the smell of aftershave instead of perfume, coarse hair instead of soft skin, strong hands in his hair... None of it ticked any boxes. In fact, he was exploring the thought now more than he had in years. A certain hint of smoke appeared in his imaginings, a glimpse of sandy blond hair, the taste of whiskey... He cut himself off there, feeling like he'd just been blindsided by his own subconscious. And not for the first time, either, he thought humourlessly. How else could you explain the characters he'd chosen to surround him with here in the coma dream? A load of Neanderthals and a bird he couldn't get off with. When he woke up he'd definitely need to see a good psychiatrist.

As he came back from the cafe with two chip butties (saturated fat was high on the priorities of that particular chef) and a couple of cans in his pockets, he returned to those musings. He looked at them carefully, as you might prod a sore tooth with your tongue. He really didn't fancy the Guv, did he? Is this is what bi-curious meant? He hated that word, it always seemed like a word people used to make themselves seem interesting. Maybe he'd been harsh. And maybe, since none of this was real anyway, it was alright to have some unusual ideas. Like when you had a sex dream about someone really inappropriate, someone you'd never fancy in a million years. Yeah, this was exactly like that. He couldn't be blamed for what his subconscious threw at him. Rationalising done, he stored the train of thought away, as though packing glassware into a box.

He was back at the car, and slid into the passenger seat.

'Anything?' he asked, passing Gene his lunch and fishing the cans out of his jacket.

'Less action than a eunuch in a brothel,' said the Guv gloomily. He took a Coke from Sam, sneered at it. 'What is this, a children's party? Are you going to do balloon animals?' He dropped the offending article in the back seat, looking out a hipflask instead. He took a sip and offered it to Sam, who declined with what he felt was admirable restraint; there was no point giving Gene a lecture on drinking during working hours, and behind the wheel of a car to boot. He just didn't care.

They ate in silence, both staring over at the flat. Occasionally the suspect passed by one of the windows, at least proving that he was there. Sam washed the last of his lunch down with a swallow of Coke and sat holding the can, missing the drinks holders in his own car, not to mention the CD player, heated seats and, perhaps most of all, air freshener. The Guv chased his lunch with another sip of whiskey. He hated these stakeouts, would much rather be storming in the front door and looking for evidence, but this one had to be by the book. If Gene ever met the ponce who wrote the bloody book he'd kick him into next week. This was not proper policing. He looked over at Sam in the passenger seat. It was blokes like him that wrote the books, blokes who had no understanding of the real nature of the job. Still, Tyler was proving to be a good copper despite all that, and the Guv took the credit for showing him that not everything could be solved in the collator's office. You couldn't accuse him of being all mouth and no trousers, either; he still had some bruises from Monday's fight. When he had to, Tyler could produce the goods.

He looked back out the windscreen again, sighing with the frustration of it all and leaning forward over the steering wheel, arms folded. What a waste of bloody time, he thought, keeping it to himself. He was sick of saying it anyway, knew it was a pointless complaint. They were here until they got a break, or another lead came in. Might as well try to make the most of it.

'Right, I'm going for a kip,' he said. Sam looked over at him, eyebrows almost meeting his hairline. 'Well, we both know nothing's doing. Wake me up if something happens.' So saying, he leaned back into his seat again, arms folded across his chest this time, and shut his eyes.

Sam looked back out of the window, as if he might see some sympathetic onlooker who could share a commiserating nod, then back at the man in the driver's seat. Unbelievable, he was actually going to sleep on the job and leave Sam here on his own to keep watch. Of all the nerve... He shook his head and brought his focus back in on the block of flats. At least one of them could be professional about this. He couldn't help but continue to spare glances over at Gene, who was soon breathing deeply. When he started snoring Sam turned his eyes to the roof of the car, appalled that this is what his career had come to. He was a DCI back home, in charge, the one making the plans. Here, he was sat in a brown Ford Cortina with a man who thought nothing of taking an afternoon nap on the job, keeping surveillance on the world's dullest criminal. Unbelievable.

Still, he couldn't help but laugh. The situation was so ridiculous. He looked over again at Gene, now letting out a gentle whistling snore through pursed lips, and snorted. He was a different breed, Gene Hunt. A law unto himself. The Guv's face relaxed as he slept, the lines softened, and Sam looked for a little longer than he knew was safe. If Gene woke up to find Sam watching him sleep he'd never hear the end of it, and probably never get to set foot (or arse) in the Cortina again. Still, he lingered a moment longer, watching the steady rise and fall of the Guv's arms over his chest, the peaceful expression. He looked so... well... vulnerable. He remembered himself and looked back over to the flat, with a quick glance up and down the street to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Still nothing. With a quiet sigh he leaned back in the seat himself, resigned to another long afternoon without even a read of the paper or a walk round the block to break it up. Great.

A couple of hours later, the radio crackled to life. 'Eight-seven-zero, come in.' Gene's eyes snapped open and he had the radio in hand almost before Sam could take in what was happening.

'Hunt,' he replied tersely. Sam was amazed by the transition from out cold to alert and poised for action.

'Stand down Guv. They've shown up.'

'What?' he snapped, raising his voice.

'Walked in the house half an hour ago, a lovebite and a hangover each. They thought they'd run away to London but it turned out the streets weren't paved with gold.'

The two coppers looked at each other as this information was relayed. Sam shut his eyes, mouth flattened in annoyance. Neither spoke for so long that Phyllis came back on.

'You there Guv? Boss?'

'Phyllis, if anyone is looking for me, I will be in the pub.' Gene returned the radio to the cradle harder than necessary.

'Roger that, Guv,' she replied, sounded singularly unsurprised. Gene turned back to Sam.

'Bloody kids. What a waste...'

'...of time,' Sam finished with him. 'At least they're safe, eh?'

'They wouldn't be if I was their father, I'd tan their hides for them,' Gene replied, clearly furious. He started the engine and Sam barely had time to brace himself before the car was thrown into reverse and sped backwards down the street, performing what felt like a handbrake turn to face them in the direction of the Railway Arms. Gene floored it again, Sam hanging on while trying to pretend not to, and screeched off through lines of washing, scattering unwary pedestrians and bellowing offensive language all the way.

Usually Sam would be appalled at the suggestion of knocking off at 4pm on a Friday but, after the week they'd had, he didn't have it in him to argue. He would be glad to draw a close to this week, and if he could do so in the pub with a few pints he would be all the happier. No Scotch though, not after last Friday. Well, 'none' might be a bit unrealistic but less, anyway. Gene parked up behind the bar and they both climbed out, gratefully stretching their legs and backs. The Guv leaned on the roof.

'You coming in then?'

'Yeah, I think I will.'

'Not going to quote me chapter and verse about clocking off times?'

'Not this time, Guv.' Sam gave him a half smile. 'Think we deserve a break.'

Gene seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded, stepped away and slammed the car door, heading off to the pub without a word or a glance back. Sam followed in the wake of the Guv's billowing coat.

The bar was quiet again at this time. It'd get busier in an hour or so as people clocked off and headed down after their shifts, but for now it was sedate. Nelson gave them his broadest grin as they walked in. That was one of Nelson's great skills, thought Sam, he always made you feel like he was a little surprised and very glad to see you. A barman's talent if ever there was one.

'Mister Hunt. Sam, man brahv.' He nodded at each in turn. 'What's your poison this fine afternoon?'

'Pint of bitter,' said Gene, making his way up to the bar. Sam nodded.

'Same.'

Nelson set about pouring the pints. 'Long week this week?' His accent stretched out the word 'long' in a way that seemed very fitting. Both men nodded, Gene lighting a cigarette as he did.

'That's an understatement, Nelson,' Sam offered, 'like you wouldn't believe.'

Nelson chuckled as he finished the second pint.

'Thirsty work?'

'And no mistake,' said Gene, reaching for one of the glasses. Nelson handed the other to Sam, then stood back a little from the bar, a hint of expectancy about him. Sam looked at him, nonplussed, then over at Gene, who was busy with his pint. Eventually he looked back, then glanced at Nelson, before returning to Sam. He jerked his head towards the bar, and when Sam looked back again Nelson met his gaze. He suddenly got it.

'Oh I do beg your pardon, Guv, allow me...' The sarcasm rolled off his tongue as he fished his wallet out, but he didn't really mean anything by it. After all the Scotch last week, the last thing Sam could stint over was buying the man a drink.

'Good man,' said Gene, letting the tone wash over him and the beer wash down his throat. He continued to lean on the bar, alternately hunching and straightening his shoulders to ease the cramped feeling from them. It was worse for him than for Sam, he thought. This was one situation where being a skinny shortarse was an advantage. You could put Tyler in a single wardrobe and he wouldn't be cramped, though he might come out with a new outfit and complaining that the shoes didn't match the coat. He straightened up again and puffed his fag, glad it was all finally over and looking forward to getting a great quantity of beer in his stomach before he switched over to the Scotch. You had to line the stomach, that was the key thing.

He watched as Tyler paid for their drinks, buying Nelson one while he was about it. Nelson poured himself a measure of rum, voicing his gratitude. 'I don't normally drink when I'm workin', you know that of course,' he said, giving them a conspiratorial wink.

'Nor me, Nelson, very wise,' said Gene, deadpan, clinking glasses with first Nelson, then Sam. Sam tried to maintain a serious look but a smirk broke through as they raised their glasses, then drank. Gene kept his straight face on, but smiled inside. It was good to be in the pub. As company went, these two weren't bad either. If you'd told him a few years ago he'd be standing here with a coloured bloke and a suspected poof, he'd never have believed you. Much less would he have believed that they would, in fact, be his first choice of companions. Times change, he thought. They'd changed for the better, too.

The three of them stood at the bar for a while, drinking and making small talk - football, the power cuts, how Nelson's business was going. Sam was feeling the effects of the beer, but in a comfortable way. He'd been wrong earlier when he thought he'd surrounded himself with Neanderthals; the Guv was old fashioned, but he wasn't as intolerant as he made out. Alright, he was rude to and about everyone, all the time, but a lot of it was bluster. He had to keep up a front, if he wanted to maintain the respect of the rest of the squad. Times were different here, rules were different. He looked at Gene and Nelson laughing over some story and felt a rush of affection. If he had to be here, he might as well be here with these two, enjoying the beer, even if it was imaginary. Better than sitting in the cold flat, putting off the moment that he went to bed to dream those strange, horrifying and above all very real dreams.

He was brought out of his reverie by a nudge from his DCI. 'Come on Dorothy,' said Gene, 'it's your round.' He stumped up happily. He realised that it was now after clocking off time, but the usual suspects hadn't joined them in the bar. Some of CID had come in, sure enough, but taken tables on their own.

'Where's Chris and Ray?' he asked, taking his change.

Gene blew out the smoke from yet another cigarette. 'Ray's sister's friend's getting married. Him and Chris are trying to get some bridesmaid action at the reception.'

Sam mulled it over. 'What, Ray took Chris to a wedding?'

This sank in, and he started laughing at the idea of Ray taking Chris on a date by accident, and wondering why the women didn't seem interested. The Guv and Nelson joined in.

'I suppose he did, yeah,' Gene said, through the laughter. 'Spose they might not get the kind of action they were hoping for, eh?' This brought a fresh round of hilarity. That changed the tone of the night a bit; Sam had assumed that they would be joined by the usual crowd later on, and was pleased that the Guv had actually chosen to spend the evening with him. Not that he should be too smug about it, probably no force on Earth could have kept Gene out of the pub tonight; a lack of drinking partners would never be a good excuse not to stop in for a pint or six. He should also cut that kind of thinking out right now, before he started a replay of last Friday. There was no need to spend two Saturdays in a row wondering if he'd made a move, however subtle, on his boss. His very male boss.

'Right, I've had enough of stretching my legs here,' said the Guv, putting his fag out in the ashtray instead of on the carpet, in deference to Nelson. Sam's heart sank a little. 'Nelson, give us a deck of cards over.' It rose again. They weren't leaving, in fact quite the opposite - the Guv sounded like he was going to get settled in. Nelson produced a dog-eared pack and Gene lifted them and tilted them towards Sam.

'Let's win some money off these soft bastards, eh?' he asked, nodding towards a table of three of the other coppers in the bar. Sam nodded, swallowing his mouthful of beer.

'Sounds good to me, Guv.'

'Good luck, gentlemen,' Nelson called, as he polished off the bar behind them.

The others seemed amenable to the suggestion; Jackson in particular was a betting man and thought himself a bit of a card sharp. They played several games of poker, proving Jackson resoundingly wrong, with breaks in between for bar duty and the necessary visits to the bogs. There was no need to make conversation while you played, of course; generally there was some of what Sam would call 'trash talk' and Gene would call 'taking the piss', but it was a serious business that didn't invite chatter. Sam and Gene had sat on opposite sides of the round table, and Sam was finding himself a bit distracted from the game. The decision earlier that it was fine for him to have certain... feelings... seemed to have been liberating. Not to mention all those pints on an empty stomach, of course.

Gene had the best poker face you could hope not to encounter. His blue eyes gave nothing away. He didn't twitch or fidget with his cigarette, but took evenly spaced, long draws between plays. He didn't shuffle and reorganise his cards like some of the men; like Sam did himself, in fact. He didn't betray a single emotion, with only occasional looks at the other players when their attention was buried in their own hand. This let Sam sneak many a glance over his own cards, taking in the rough skin, slightly over-long hair and purposeful movements as though for the first time. His poker game was suffering for it, but Sam had to admit that he was enjoying this, letting down the guards in his mind and seeing what cropped up. He'd never paid attention to another man in this way before, and the novelty of it was a bit of a thrill in itself. He watched Gene's eyes as they flicked over the cards. Those hard blue eyes; they were so difficult to read, almost impossible most of the time. Sometimes, though, when a joke hit the right spot or the conversation turned to City's former glories, you could see something else in them. A light and a heat behind the cynicism. Those eyes had probably parted a few sets of legs in their time, thought Sam. All exclusively female legs, of course.

Gene shuffled the pack and started a new deal, cigarette half-smoked and safely tucked in the corner of his mouth. The Guv's mouth, so ready with criticism and profanity. Sam had been on the receiving end of both, and of countless derogatory nicknames into the bargain. He'd never really noticed before, though, the soft way the lips pursed together at rest. Sometimes it was damn near a pout, even. Some might describe that as kissable, but Tyler wouldn't be among them. Things hadn't got that far. The deal had come to an end and Sam was slow in lifting his cards. The Guv had noticed.

'Alright Tyler, I know I'm fascinating but d'you think we could start?'

Shit. Rumbled. He tried not to react, reaching forward for his cards as casually as he could manage.

'Don't flatter yourself, Guv.'

This caused a slight stir round the table, a couple of high-pitched 'ooooh!'s from the other men. The Guv himself took a final draw of his cigarette and blew the smoke directly over at Sam. 'If I was flatterin myself, Tyler, I'd have Britt Eckland in mind, not your scrawny arse'. This met with rough laughter and some nudges round the table. Sam only narrowed his eyes and tilted his head with an expression meant to convey his contempt. Inwardly, though, he was embarrassed at being caught out. This was stupid, what was he hoping to gain from ogling the very man he'd been paranoid about chatting up only days before? Bi-curious? Bollocks. If he didn't know for a fact that he'd banged his head he'd be worried.

He picked up his game a bit, winning back some of the coins he'd thrown into the ashtray in the centre over the next few hands. One of the others left with apologies and much mockery over his inability to take the heat. The remaining four played on until Jackson huffily declared himself out for good, then the cards were finally shuffled back into the pack. Jackson and his partner left the pub with lighter pockets and heavier hearts. The Guv leaned back in his chair, finishing the pint glass in front of him.

'You look like the cat who got the cream, Guv,' said Sam, looking over at Gene's self-satisfied expression.

'Not just the cream Tyler, the whole ruddy dairy. Those boys will never learn, you can't beat the Gene Genie at poker.' He leaned back, with the air of a man who has done a good day's work. At some point between games he'd rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie, undoing the top buttons on his shirt. He was a picture of contentment. He gave Sam an unprompted smile, slate eyes shining. 'Let's have a Scotch to celebrate. I will allow you to do the honours'.

Sam matched actions to the Guv's words, and ambled back to the bar where Nelson waited. Two glasses of Scotch richer (he'd known he could never last the night without having at least one), he made his way back and handed one over. They both relaxed into their wooden seats.

'A successful night then, eh?' Sam suggested.

'Too right Sammy-boy. Good winnings, good booze. Good company. The week is definitely looking up.' He smiled with his eyes, looking over the top of his glass. It happened again, their eyes met and locked. Gene's words echoed in Sam's mind - Good company. There it was. The Guv really did want to spend time with him, enjoyed it and looked for it just as Sam looked for it in return. The full force of his connection with his DCI came home to him; here was a man he wanted to pass his time with, spending day after day at close quarters and never tiring of it. Here was a man who he thought about every day, who could make him feel a vast range of conflicting emotions in an unprecedentedly short space of time. Here was a man who, despite his obvious flaws and faults, had been a rock to Sam in this strange new existence, had literally saved his life, and who could without question be relied on to save it again.

In that moment, as he looked into the eyes of the man opposite him, Sam could no longer keep the lid on that box of thoughts from earlier. He had to face up to a troubling realisation.

_Oh God. I fancy Gene Hunt._


	6. Chapter 6: What's Really Happening

Chapter Six - What's Really Happening

Tyler had been a right strange one tonight. All week he'd been normal, or at least approaching normal, but since they'd sat down to play a bit of poker the man had been distracted, looking over at him in a way that he obviously thought was subtle. Gene wondered when he'd realise that you couldn't keep anything from a good Chief Inspector.

That said, he did feel like he was missing something, here. The way Sam was looking at him now, his expression carefully blank, it was like last Friday all over again. Alright, he'd just admitted to enjoying the lad's company, which was practically like a proposal of marriage coming from him, but he didn't have to get all Dorothy about it. In fact, he could almost swear that Tyler was blushing. How becoming, he thought scathingly. He realised that he was still maintaining that eye contact and broke it to look for another ciggie.

He'd mulled over the events of last Friday more than he might care to admit during this long, drawn out week. Spending so much time in the car with Tyler obviously had a lot to do with it, but then that conversation at the start of the week had added its own share of mysteries. When he thought about touching Sam's hand once to refill his whiskey glass, and again to stop him dropping it later, a spark seemed to ignite in his chest. A tiny spark, like ash from a fag end, but it was there alright. The memories of those moments and a dozen others - laughing across the table, watching Tyler get his coat on when he was barely sober enough to stand, sharing a final nip out of the bottle - had all got mixed up with the fight they'd had on Monday, and the conversation afterwards where he'd basically asked Sam outright if he was a poof. Sam had denied it, but in such a way as to leave Gene with more questions than he'd started with. He was starting to feel bloody confused, and took a huge hit from his Scotch in the hope that it would, as it so often did, help.

Nelson had put some music on, but the pub seemed a lot quieter than usual. For a moment he wondered if he'd rather have Chris and Ray in here with them, making stupid jokes or telling bald-faced lies about their sex lives, but the thought was easy to dismiss. For all his weirdness, Tyler was good company. Which was just as well, since he'd hardly spoken a word to anyone else all week. Gene puffed at his cigarette, looking into the middle distance silently. What if Tyler did turn out to be a queer? Would that change things? Before now he'd have said yes, that he'd have beaten seven shades of shit out of the man and sent him back to Hyde without a moment's hesitation. He would never have believed that he'd have been capable of sharing his office, his car, his space with a nancy. Now? He wasn't so sure. The idea that Tyler might fancy other men seemed not to cast a shadow over their relationship, as though it wouldn't matter. He hesitated to even think it, but might it even be good? God knows it had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like Sam did, or since he'd met anyone who could almost match blows with him and still be upright on the other side. That was the thing about Tyler, sometimes he was like a skirt with his mood swings, but he could fight like a man. Drink like a man, too, if you forgot about last Friday. As if he could.

He took another drink himself, finishing his glass. Tyler's was still almost full, and he was gazing into it.

'Gone off the Scotch since last time, Gladys?' he asked. Sam looked up, then shrugged.

'Looks that way, doesn't it?'

'Well, don't be too hard on yourself. A skinny bird like you, it's no wonder you can't handle your drink.' Sam gave him a withering look, then, and defiantly swallowed some of the whiskey. Gene sniffed laughter, lips pursed.

'Do they not drink the hard stuff in Hyde?'

Sam seemed to think about this, his expression surprisingly serious for such a casual question.

'Going to the pub's different, back home,' he eventually replied, his tone somber.

'Oh yeah?'

He nodded. 'Yeah. Everybody's drinking wine and G&Ts. Nobody smokes inside.' He looked around them. 'There's a lot more women - a LOT. Oh, and it's bloody expensive.' This last part seemed to cheer him a little, as he gave a bittersweet smile and took another sip of whiskey. Gene took all this in.

'Sounds bloody awful,' was his summary. Sam looked up at him, surprised, and his smile lost some of the sad edge.

'It is a bit, actually,' he agreed, thoughtfully.

'More birds though, I don't mind the sound of that. And I bet they were all flocking to you, eh?'

The smile was definitely much warmer now. 'Well, I don't like to brag, you know how it is...' This was a rare show of bravado from Tyler, the Guv couldn't resist winding him up.

'A new notch on the bedpost every night, was it? Good lad.'

This was met with a laugh and a shake of the head. 'Not exactly.' Still, he looked pleased. They sat quietly while Sam finished his whiskey, seemingly lost in memories. Gene watched him, taking in the slender hands round the glass, the dark, serious eyes, the long v-shape of Sam's open collar. There was a stillness about Sam Tyler, a feeling of fierce self-control. Even now, in the pub and after who knew how many pints, he looked tense. It had been good to see him properly relax last week; you didn't get much more relaxed than asleep on the table. Gene had set out to make sure Sam was OK, that night. His DI's well being had become increasingly important to him, and maybe tonight he could admit to himself that it wasn't a purely professional concern. Damn it, he liked the man. It was personal. They'd saved each other's bacon out there on the streets many times, they were partners. Good partners. It had been a long while since Gene had worked with someone he trusted and, yes, respected this way. A long, long time.

Sam seemed to come out of his reverie. 'Another drink?' he asked, reaching into his pocket before waiting for the answer. Gene only nodded, and Tyler made his way back to the bar, leaving the older man to his thoughts again. He looked back on the week, realising that not only had he been stuck in the Cortina with Sam all week, but in the times in between shifts he'd been thinking of Tyler more than anything else. He'd told himself over and over, without realising that he was doing it, that he was only taking care of business. He had to look after his men, because nobody else would. That was his job, to take care of these coppers and this city, and if that meant paying particular attention to one nutter then that's what he would do.

He'd already accepted that it wasn't purely professional, though. For all his self-reassurance, he'd started to care for this nutter. Not just the usual care and concern that he had for the whole CID family, either. He liked Sam. Liked him a lot. His face wrinkled. He sounded like a right fairy, here. But, if you didn't know your own mind you were in trouble, and he realised that he'd been fooling himself for weeks, maybe months, when it came to Sam Tyler. Maybe even since the day he'd walked into CID and they'd had their first fight. Trading blows with a member of his own team wasn't Gene's usual style but there was something in Tyler that seemed to invite it, encourage it even. And the more they fought, and the harder he had to work to win as the other man got used to his moves, the more he liked it. Him. Both.

Sam was back from the bar, a Scotch in each hand, to interrupt this confusing train of thought. The Guv grunted his thanks.

'Nelson's getting bored up there on his own,' he reported. Gene glanced over at the bar, where Nelson stood looking glum.

'It's a quiet night for him, alright, without our lot in filling his pockets,' he admitted. 'Where's Cartwright tonight, then?'

Sam's face darkened again for an instant.

'I, eh... I think she's on a date,' he said. It looked like he'd hoped this wouldn't come up. Gene had thought Sam would be likely to know what Cartwright was up to, even though they'd been away from the office all week. He'd seen the two of them having a cosy chat in the canteen on Tuesday. Thick as thieves, they'd looked. He thought maybe this date business could just be Annie trying to make Sam jealous. Maybe not though; she was a good looking lass, there was no need for her to wait around until Sam Tyler resolved all his many and varied psychological problems.

'Dirty slag,' he said, as much to punctuate the conversation as anything else. Sam's head snapped up.

'Don't speak about her like that,' he spat, obviously angry.

'Alright, Dorothy, keep your shirt on.'

'Just don't speak about her like that. Ever. Understand?'

Jesus, you just never knew when Tyler was going to go off on one. He was only joking. Everyone knew Cartwright was a good copper, everyone liked her. That didn't stop them talking about her arse when she wasn't there, but that was just life. He had an option now: he could let it go, ignore Tyler's outburst, or he could wind him up and maybe get himself into a fight over it. He'd take it outside, of course. Fighting in the Railway Arms was not tolerated, either by Nelson or by Gene Hunt. He decided to shelve it for now. No need to waste good drinking time.

'Alright Sam. Just a joke.' Sam dropped his eyes, took a sip of his drink. He was obviously upset about the whole thing. Gene attempted to make him feel better.

'Good to have some male bonding time anyway,' he tried, thinking it might raise a smile if nothing else. He was half right; the corners of Sam's mouth twitched.

'Haven't we had enough of that this week?' he asked, raising an eyebrow.

'We haven't had enough of this, though, have we?' Gene countered, raising his glass and taking a drink. 'Besides, I know you could never get sick of my legendary wit and charm.' Sam choked on his own Scotch then, and a flush seemed to rise back to his cheeks. Gene noted it, had even perhaps been expecting it. He pushed on, feeling reckless.

'Don't deny it Sammy-boy, we all know yer fancy me. You're only human after all.' He'd gone a bit far there, but once you started on the wind up it was difficult to stop.

Sam wiped his mouth, seemingly lost for words, but managed to respond with a scathing 'Come off it Guv. My tastes run to more sophisticated people. Women, I mean.' He was flustered alright, and Gene felt a certain glee to accompany that blinking spark in his chest.

'Don't worry Sunshine, I won't tell anyone. It can be our little secret.'

Sam looked over at him then, something not-quite readable in his eyes. He looked uncertain and, once again, much more serious than this light-hearted banter deserved. Gene felt his stomach turn over, once, like butterflies. Like how he'd felt when he asked that beautiful girl out so many years ago. After that he'd never felt the same about another woman, thought it was just part of growing up and the novelty of 'love' fading as the realities of the world crept it. Maybe he'd just never met the right woman again. Even with Mrs Hunt things had been more practical than romantic. They'd got along well, and God knows he'd cared about her more than any other woman; that's why he'd asked her to marry him. He'd been happy on his wedding day, dancing with his new wife in front of everyone. She'd whispered in his ear that he looked handsome, so handsome, and he remembered squeezing her hand, looking into her brown eyes. After that shining moment things went back to day to day life and mundane conversations over dinner, the occasional peck on the lips and ever decreasing fumbles in the sack. Had he loved her? Yes, of course, but what was love except a word on daytime dramas and soap operas? Their relationship had died slowly, like a plant your neighbours forgot to water while you were on holiday, and now he was on his own again. On his own again, but looking into the eyes of a man who'd become so many things to him. Those soft, brown eyes, with what might be a flicker of hope drowning in them.

_It can be our little secret. _

What if he opened his mouth and told Sam what he was thinking, right now? The thought made his stomach roll again, a feeling that hadn't lost any of its power in its years of staying dormant. He would never do it, of course, but the idea of it, what it might mean, was intoxicating. He lifted his Scotch again, but only held it for now, still looking back at Sam. What the bloody hell was going on here?

He didn't expect the response, when it came.

'I won't tell if you don't.'

Sam was still serious, still holding his gaze. That was too much for Gene, and he finally lifted his glass to his lips and closed his eyes as he drank. His heart was beating fast, his mind whirling.

_Oh God. I fancy Sam Tyler._


	7. Chapter 7: Changes

Chapter Seven - Changes

Both men were silent, Gene with eyes closed and Scotch tilted to his mouth, Sam watching him. Sam didn't know how to feel; not only had he just come out and openly made a suggestive remark to his boss, his boss had started it. _We've got a live one here. _All these feelings he'd been hiding, ignoring and denying - could they possibly be reciprocated? This was too much. He had to clear his head.

'Off to take a leak,' he mumbled, stepping away from the table hard enough to rattle the glasses. He passed Nelson at the bar, looked into his face as though he may have some advice to give. Nelson looked back and nodded gently at him. What did that mean? Was it just a normal pleasantry or did he know what was going on? He wouldn't put it past him. Nelson took everything in and stored it all up quietly. Perceptive wasn't even the word. He scrutinised the man's eyes, looking for something else, more meaning. All he got was a slightly puzzled smile as he finally reached the end of the bar, and they passed out of each other's eyeline.

When he got to the loo, he went in to the single cubicle and banged the door shut behind him, locking it firmly. Nelson's toilets weren't the finest place to be but he kept them as clean as he could, and at least there was both toilet seat and door. He lowered the seat and sat down, elbows on knees and head in hands. He felt so confused. Maybe he was reading too much into this? He'd tried that argument with himself last week, too, but it had never been convincing. Surely there was no way that Gene was really flirting with him, though. He was the straightest, most traditionally and pig-headedly masculine man Sam had ever met. The kind of man who was almost extinct back home, and who Sam would never have been friends with in a million years. They didn't seem to agree on anything, from policing to politics, and yet here they were, thrown in together and making a good team. They had a fist fight at least every other week, then they went to the pub and spent hours drinking together with no more said about it. In all the other madness in his life, his relationship with Gene Hunt might be simultaneously the most solid and the most weird thing. And it had just got a lot weirder. And more exciting.

Gene felt gobsmacked, appalled at himself for getting into this situation. He wasn't a bender, he was the absolute pinnacle of masculinity. He liked boozing, and fighting, and fish suppers. He did not like other men. As often as he repeated this, though, he couldn't deny that the thought flashing in his mind, in red letters, was true.

_I fancy Sam Tyler._

He had no idea what to do except pretend that nothing had happened, both to Tyler and to himself, if he could. In fact, bollocks to that, nothing _had_ happened. Banter, that was all. And if they were both attaching more meaning to it than that, they could both pull themselves together. Separately. God, even that sounded like one of them double intenders. He took another drink, almost finishing the glass that Sam had just brought over.

He sat back in his chair again, feeling a bit punch drunk. And Scotch drunk, admittedly. He started to relax again. He still had it, then. The old magic. Appreciative looks from young women had been few and far between in recent times, but it turned out an appreciative look from a younger man could have the same cheering effect, even if it was more complicated. He was over-thinking, he knew he was. Better just to focus on the positives. He still had it.

Sam knew he'd been away for too long, and took a deep breath. Usually it was better to breathe shallowly, if at all, in the bogs, but needs must. He was a grown man, here, what the hell was he doing hiding in the toilets of a pub? This was stupid. Everything was fine. He had a bit of a crush on a man he respected, a man with an element of power and status, and he wasn't the first to have that experience. When your whole life was upside down, it was only to be expected that you would latch on to someone who was always so in control of himself. The complex feelings of desire would soon fade again and he'd have no idea why he'd have felt the need to hide in the toilets of the Railway Arms one Friday night. All he had to do was get through the next few weeks without sounding like something out of a Carry On film every time he had too much to drink ('_I won't tell if you won't,' honestly..._). He was up to the challenge. He'd had unrequited crushes before - not many, alright, but he knew how it went. Just wait it out. And start by going back to the table and acting like nothing had happened. He breathed out in a thin stream, gathering himself, then decided to use the facilities while he was in here. He slapped his hands on his bent knees, pushed himself up and went about his business. He washed up in the spotted sink before walking back out, consciously holding himself upright and allowing a certain swagger in his shoulders. He was calm, he was relaxed. Mind over matter. Finish up his drink and get home. No problem.

He felt a dismaying flutter of nerves as he got back to the table but tried to keep his face and movements calm. He couldn't quite face looking Gene in the eye just yet, but then they'd had enough eye contact in the past week to last them a month. He didn't say anything, just sat back down and took a sip of his whiskey. The Guv wasn't forthcoming with anything either, legendary wit or otherwise, and they sat in what felt like excruciating silence for a spell.

Gene's resolution to forget about the whole thing was over-ridden by his desire to break the silence. And to wind Tyler up, don't forget that.

'"I won't tell if you won't?"' he said, still looking straight ahead. He thought he could see Sam's face wince out of the corner of his eye.

'Just a joke, Guv. Just thought I'd try out some humour. Don't worry, I won't be doing it again.' He sipped at his drink, shoulders squared against the back of the chair.

'See that you don't. If anyone had heard you they'd have taken us for a couple of queers. I'd have had to beat them senseless before I could finish me drink.' He was only part joking. He knew the damage a rumour could do to a man's reputation. If he lost respect in this city he'd have trouble on his hands. Bad enough the time that harridan Jackie Queen had slated him over doing his job; if word went around that Gene Hunt was limp in the wrist things would be a lot worse than dirty looks.

'Nobody would believe that, would they though?' said Sam, with total conviction in his words. Gene was the last man anyone would suspect of the social crime of being gay.

Gene grunted a dry laugh. 'Spose not, eh? Catch me joining the Bender Brigade...' Sam hated to hear those words in the Guv's mouth , and not only because they offended his modern sensibilities. He had accepted this for what it was, a teenage crush ten years too late, but while he was still caught up in its throes he knew it would be painful to hear his secret feelings so dismissed and abused. Of course nothing would ever happen with Gene, but hearing those words was still enough to make his heart dip.

'Right. The uniform wouldn't suit you, anyway. I hear it's pink with gold braiding. It's supposed to be fabulous. ' He delivered this with a wry tone, hoping it sounded normal. He took a bigger drink from his glass, thinking that the sooner he could get home the sooner he'd feel relaxed again. The Guv surprised him by standing up, then, and he looked up. Gene must be thinking the same thing, that this evening was better left behind and never discussed again. Instead of pulling on his coat, though, he walked up to the bar without a word. Sam watched as he asked Nelson for a bottle from behind the counter. Yep, that was him getting ready for home alright. Not that the bottle would make it ten yards out of the pub without being opened and tasted. He was disappointed, annoyed at himself for letting these adolescent feelings ruin a perfectly good night in the pub. _What a twonk._

Gene had a short conversation with Nelson, both men speaking in low tones, Nelson smiling in his open, disarming way. The Guv strolled back over again, holding the bottle casually by the neck and looking down at the carpet in front of him. As he got back, Sam shifted upright in his seat, preparing to stand up. He wasn't expecting Gene to sit down, but the man was full of surprises as ever and did just that, screwing the top off the Scotch in no short order. He didn't look at Sam until he'd filled both glasses, and he'd handed one over. Sam couldn't deny feeling a certain spreading warmth as he watched these grave proceedings. He hadn't ruined everything after all. Little miracles, everywhere.

Gene saw Sam looking questioningly at him, and gave him a steady look back. 'Well, if we're going to get pissed, we might as well get a bargain on it, eh? He sipped from his whiskey then, as if minutes before Sam hadn't been hiding in the toilets with his head in his hands, bemoaning his own misfiring hormones. Sam nodded, as though considering this point. 'Sounds alright to me Guv. Cheers.'

They touched glasses, this time minus the intense eye contact (_saints be praised_). There was more silence, but it had lost the edge. What a relief. Sam wondered what might be on the TV to keep them going in conversation through the rest of the evening. Nelson often put the the box on, muted, when it was quiet, to try and keep himself occupied. Sam looked up at the screen, proud as always at the sturdy brackets he'd constructed up there, and his face fell. Gene had noticed, and looked over first to get a good look at Sam's expression, then over to the screen. After a moment he started laughing.

'Speak of the devil, eh Sammy-boy?' he chuckled. Liberace was flouncing his way across the screen. The irony was too much for him and he threw back his head, laughing from his gut. Sam had to join in. This was beyond a joke. If the TV screens were going to start picking up his thoughts like this he was going to be in trouble. Still, it was undeniably funny, and as he laughed he felt almost giddy at the release of some more of the tension from earlier.

'Bloody Liberace,' said Gene, a little breathless and still grinning. 'All in pink, with gold braiding. You know your stuff anyway Gladys, I'll give you that.' Sam hadn't picked up this particular detail, and couldn't contain a groan as he leaned his face into the palm of his hand. This made Gene laugh again, and Sam gave him a rueful smile through his fingers.

'I don't suppose it would do any good to say I've never seen that outfit before in my life?'

'A likely story. Doesn't cut any mustard with me Tyler; I'm on to yer.' Sam closed his eyes and shook his head against his hand, rumpling up his short fringe as he did so. Gene watched him, his eyes soft. The night had gone a bit weird, just then, but they were back to normal now, and he had the upper hand. Just how he liked it. Both men drank their Scotch, continuing to watch the flamboyant performer and providing occasional commentary. When the film finished and David Dimbleby came on with his buttoned up shirt and improbably shiny hair, they lost interest and turned back to light conversation. Gene found himself angling his body in towards the table, jumping a little when their knees touched accidentally. Alright, so not back to normal then, but approaching it.

As Dimbleby gave over to the late news, Gene felt ready to head home. He was pleasantly drunk and tired after the long, dull week. 'Right Sammy-boy, time to call it a night.' It was a statement rather than a suggestion. If he was ready to go home then that was the night over, end of story. Sam seemed to be feeling equally tired anyway, since he stifled a yawn before draining his glass.

'Good idea Guv. Thank God it's Friday, eh?'

'What?'

'Nothing. Just a figure of speech.'

Gene sniffed at this, not seeming to be won over by the catchiness of the phrase. Sam put his empty back on the table and stood up slowly, stretching himself out as he did. His shirt rode up, exposing a sliver of flat midriff that Gene tried to ignore. The man was in good shape, anyone could see that. Couldn't blame a man for noticing that. What you could blame him for was wondering what it would be like to touch that bare strip of skin, what it would feel like for both of them. He wondered it anyway, behind his impassive expression. As he turned his eyes away, he saw Nelson looking in their direction. The barman gave him a knowing look, and Gene felt like he'd been caught staring at a barmaid's arse. He cleared his throat, looking away and picking up his coat. He swung it over his shoulders as Sam pulled on his own jacket, maneuvering much more elegantly that last time. He noted the man's slim hips as the jacket settled around them, the way the sleeves were just a little too long for his small frame. He glanced guiltily over at Nelson again, but he'd gone back to his book, obviously not a fan of either the news or the subtle floor show that Sam and Gene were unwittingly providing.

'You ready then?' Sam broke into the Guv's thoughts. He nodded, and they made their way to the door. The cold air outside sobered them both up a little. They stood away from the door, half facing each other and half facing their respective routes home.

'Right then Tyler. See you in the office tomorrow.' Another command rather than request. There was catching up to do this weekend.

'Bright eyed and bushy tailed, Guv,' Sam agreed, hands in his pockets to keep out the chill.

'Alright Squirrel Nutkin. Shouldn't imagine anyone else will be very bushy tailed even if you can manage it.' Sam rolled his eyes, not thrilled with yet another nickname.

'If Ray and Chris have got their way I should imagine they'll be more bushed than bushy tailed,' he said, hoping to end the night on a laugh. He got a chuckle.

'Cartwright too. If she's walking like John Wayne in the morning we'll know why.'

Sam felt a sudden surge of anger. 'I told you not to talk about her like that,' he said. His hands bunched in his pockets. He was too protective of Annie, he knew, but he couldn't help it. That casual way of demeaning women, God, it was so... well, so 1973. He hated it.  
Gene knew he shouldn't have said it, hadn't really planned to, but he certainly wasn't going to apologise for a harmless remark like that.

'Or what, Tyler? You'll hit me with your handbag?' He kept his tone light, almost as though it were a genuine enquiry. Sam stayed silent, keeping his jaw clenched over any argumentative words. Gene wasn't so inclined.

'Maybe you should let Cartwright stand up for herself, eh? Or her new boyfriend, of course. I bet he's an uncomplicated kind of bloke. Tall, too.'

This was the final straw.

'Fuck you, Gene,' spat Sam, appalled at himself for saying it even as the words formed. He tried to turn and storm off, but he was caught firmly by the arm and spun round.

'What did you say?' growled the Guv, low and menacing.

'You heard me. Don't speak about her like that. Don't speak about her at _all_. And get your hands off me.' He pushed Gene's hand off his bicep, hard. He could still feel Gene's grip, knew he'd have faint bruises there in the morning.

'You are getting a bit too touchy, Tyler, you know that? Now I cut you a lot of slack around here...' - Sam scoffed in his face - '...but if I have to put you in your place, believe me, I will. I will take great delight in it, in fact.' Their faces were an inch apart. Gene had kept his tone low, trusting on his intimidating physical bulk and blazing eyes to keep Tyler down. He could feel the smaller man's breath on his face, they were so close. Tyler glared up at him, as he'd done dozens of times in the last few months, jaw clenched and body tense. Gene waited for the first blow to fall, ready to deflect it when it did. Tyler never could get the best of him, but it didn't stop him trying. He was ready for a good fight; Sam had been the source of some unwelcome brain activity today, and it seemed obvious now that he deserved a good kicking for it.

'Don't. Push me. Gene.' Sam snarled, teeth bared. The smell of beer and whiskey on his words mixed with the heady scent of leather, creating a cloud of desire around Gene's face. In that moment he felt drawn to close the gap between them in a way he'd never have dreamed of before, and suddenly shoved Sam away. Tyler came back swinging and caught Gene a glancing blow to the jaw; he'd moved just enough to miss the worst of the punch. Wasting no time, Gene threw an uppercut to Sam's tight gut, but was surprised by Sam leaning in to him and shoving back, forcing them both away from the pub and towards the darker alley alongside.

'Oh, it's like that, is it?' panted Gene, and secured a hold on Sam's lapels. He dragged him around and pushed him again, further towards the side street. 'Don't want anyone seeing me kick you to death?' He landed another shove as Tyler tried to get his footing and stormed forward, keeping himself within hitting distance and firing out another right hook that sent Sam sprawling on the pavement. He was up again in an instant and threw a wobbly punch at Gene's jaw. Gene dodged it easily, but wasn't ready for the jab that came in at rib height.

'Don't want anyone to see you humiliated. _Guv._' It was shocking how much venom Sam could inject into that one word, when he wanted to, and it hurt Gene more than he'd ever admit to hear it. He tried to smack Tyler in the face, to shut his mouth, but Sam blocked him and got in another two powerful jabs that left him winded and on the back foot. He feinted to one side, drawing Sam's guard down, then stepped in again and landed a headbutt right on Tyler's nose. He felt a crunch, and a sharp stab of pain in his forehead. Tyler staggered back, hand to his face, gasping. For a moment Gene could only feel a savage delight; the roar of triumph that filled his ears was deafening. He felt the blood thumping in his veins and breathed deeply, relishing the feeling. He was a man alright, the biggest, baddest man in Manchester. He felt powerful, elated, and had a fleeting urge to pile back in and take his opponent down while he was defenceless. All this flooded through his brain in seconds, before reality returned and he was looking at Sam Tyler, wounded and bleeding.

'Shit,' he hissed, hurrying forward. Drops of blood landed on the ground in front of Sam, and he was swaying dangerously on his feet.

'Come on. Come on, Tyler.' He led Sam over to the wall and leaned him up against it. 'Let's have a look.' Sam didn't respond and Gene worried that he was going to pass out. He reached up and curled the tips of his fingers against the edge of Sam's palm.

'Come on,' he said again, in a gentle voice so different from the harsh tones of the minutes before. Tyler let his hand be taken away but still didn't look up. Bright drops continued to fall from his nose, faster now that his hands were out of the way. He was a mess, blood smeared across his face. His downturned eyes looked glassy. _Shit_, thought Gene again. He was ashamed of himself, feeling almost panicked by the damage he'd caused. He'd made Tyler bleed a bit before, OK, but no more than a graze on the cheekbone. This was bad.

'Tyler,' he said, wanting the man to look up, snap out of this daze. 'Sam.' He realised that he still had his hand around the other man's, and removed it, hesitating only briefly before using the index finger to tilt Sam's chin up. The touch seemed to rouse Tyler a bit, and his eyes moved and found Gene's own. Gene's usually indifferent gaze was concerned now, as he frowned at the damage he'd caused. 'Are you alright?'

This woke Sam further. 'Alright?' he asked groggily. 'You burst my nose, you lunatic bastard.' Gene was relieved to hear this banter, weakly delivered as it was. He searched in his pockets for a hanky, but to no avail. He wasn't really the kind of man that carried a handkerchief, but you never knew what you might find in the pockets of this coat.

'We better get you cleaned up. Come on,' he said, encouraging Sam away from the wall. He staggered on the first steps, and Gene stepped in and put his shoulder under Sam's, feeling the man's arm curl round instinctively until his left hand held Gene's shoulder. He ran his own arm round Sam's narrow waist.

They limped on a few paces, until Sam said, 'Now who's coming over all Dorothy?'

'You ungrateful sod, I'm trying to help!' Gene replied, with a good attempt at sounding offended.

'Ungrateful? You headbutted me!' His voice was muffled; the bleed had slowed but his nose had swollen already, making him sound ill.

'I know, I know. Come on, into the car.' He leaned Sam up against the Cortina as he unlocked it, then opened the door for him.

'The car?' Sam looked puzzled, his still slightly woozy face folding into a frown.

'Yes, Einstein, we need to get you cleaned up. Get in, will you?'

'But you've been drinking...'

'Yes and I would like to get back to that sooner rather than later, so if you _don't_ mind, would you GET IN THE BLOODY CAR?!' He knew he had no business being angry with Sam but he'd been frightened there, and Gene Hunt was not a man to frighten easily.  
Sam seemed to decide that he'd rather be home and cleaned up than standing here arguing, and eased himself into the passenger seat. Gene closed the door once he was in, as though he was escorting a lady, and whirled round to his own side, tugging his driving gloves on.  
He was in the car and had it started in no time, setting off towards Sam's flat at breakneck speed.

'Jesus Guv, slow it down,' Sam complained, hand back at his face to inspect the damage there. Gene felt another flare of guilt when he saw this, but didn't slow the pace any. He wanted to get the blood cleaned away and get a look at Sam in the light to see how bad it was. _Shit_.

They got from the car to Sam's building without having to resort to a three-legged race, and Gene was very glad to see that Tyler's gait seemed to be back on an even keel. They stepped through the front door of the bedsit, Gene closing it behind him, and Sam shrugged off his jacket and went straight through to the bathroom. Gene followed, standing behind Sam as he dabbed the blood away with a flannel, wincing occasionally. As it cleared away, Gene could see that it wasn't as bad as he'd feared. The bleeding had stopped and while Tyler's nose was swollen, it was the same shape as it had been before. Gene had seen (and caused) enough broken noses to know one when he saw it, and this didn't meet the criteria. Sam stopped his inspection of his face and looked at Gene in the cracked mirror.

'Happy now?' he asked sarcastically, holding the bloody cloth up. Gene was anything but happy; he hadn't meant this to happen, had got carried away with his own raging blood and beating heart. His heart gave a few extra thuds now as he looked back at Sam, and he shook his head.

'I'm sorry, Sam.'

Tyler looked surprised; he'd never imagined that the word 'sorry' was in his DCI's vocabulary. He watched as Gene's eyes travelled away from his face and down to his chest. For a moment he misread the Guv's intention and his heart stuttered, but when he looked down himself he saw the truth; there was blood on his shirt, staining a Rorschach pattern into the striped material.

'Jesus, do you know how hard that's going to be to get out?' he asked, irritably. He started to unbutton his shirt quickly, wanting to try and get the stain soaking. He didn't have much by way of wardrobe and he had no desire to take a trip to the shops, where there seemed to be every shade of brown known to man but not much else. He didn't notice Gene's eyes widen at the action, or the way he looked quickly up to the ceiling. He stripped off his shirt and bent forward to run water across the worst of the bloodstains. What were you supposed to do for blood? Pour white wine on it? Rub it with salt? He couldn't remember. He looked up, meaning to ask if Gene knew, and found himself locking eyes with the Guv in the mirror again. There was an expression in those eyes that Sam couldn't read. He looked sorry, yes, but was there something else behind that? His mouth was slightly open as he watched Sam in the mirror, and Sam felt a heat spread from his stomach downwards. He was suddenly aware of his topless state; the Guv hadn't even stopped to take his gloves off, and Sam was standing here half undressed. It was enough to ignite the banked fires of earlier, and he'd turned to Gene before he'd thought about it.

They stood facing each other, the silence heavy around them. Gene stepped forward, not as close as he'd been when he'd thrown that headbutt, but close enough. 'You're OK?' he asked, in a low voice. Sam couldn't answer, could hardly breathe. Was this really happening? He could feel a tingle in the air, all his instincts telling him that yes, it was real. He managed a tiny nod, feeling as dizzy as he had earlier, when the stars flashed in front of his eyes and he'd thought he was going to land flat on his back on the muddy gravel. Gene edged forward again. 'Sam?' His tone was still soft. For the second time tonight, he could feel Gene's breath on his face. He felt warm, too warm. He was stuck, one side of his mind telling him that he was about to kiss another man and the other telling him that he was delusional from knocks to the head, not to embarrass himself by making any moves. He stood, mouth open, eyes darting from one of Gene's to the other and back again, trying to find the green light he so desperately wanted.

When it happened, it was fast. Gene leaned in suddenly, paused with his top lip just brushing Sam's own. Sam gasped then, and the sensation jolted Gene into pressing their lips together in a firm kiss. It seemed to last for hours, before Gene closed his lips, then opened them again. Sam groaned in his throat, unable to help it. Their lips closed and opened again, and now he was definitely kissing back, pushing their faces even closer together and breathing in through his mouth as Gene breathed out. He could taste the Scotch, taste the metallic tang of cigarette smoke, and it was like his first kiss, all new sensations and thrills running across his skin. His bare skin, which trembled and twitched as Gene's gloved hand landed on his waist. He wanted to feel Gene's tongue with his own, take this moment of madness as far as he could before it was snatched away from him, and he pressed even closer. The movement brought his nose into firm contact with Gene's own and he yelped, jerking his head away sharply. The pain brought tears to his eyes, and he shut them, wincing.

He stayed that way until the pain had passed, holding a hand to his face, not wanting to look at the Guv after what had just happened. He didn't know what he'd see in those eyes, was frightened he'd find a look of anger or worse, disgust. Gene's hand remained resting on his waist, though, and he took the courage from this to finally stop delaying the inevitable. He opened his eyes to meet that steely gaze. It was guarded, but there was a shine to them that Tyler hadn't seen before.

'Thought you were gonna pass out on me again. Come on, let's get you sat down.' He finally took his hand away and stepped back to let Sam past. The bathroom was narrow, and as Sam squeezed by, Gene stopped him. They were stomach to stomach, temporarily increasing the flutters of excitement in Sam's gut. Gene leaned over and placed one soft kiss on Sam's mouth, resting there for a second, before edging his way back into the bathroom and freeing Sam to walk through the doorway.

Whatever else Sam knew, and right now that didn't feel like a lot, that kiss told him that everything was going to be just fine. Maybe even more than fine. He carried on into the main body of the flat, a grin starting to spread across his face.


End file.
